early morning sunshine
knifes between the canopy
of oak and pine,
disturbed
by cool breezes
which drift in waves
through my open window.
dappled splashes
of warm light dance
across worn floorboards
soundlessly.
three cups of coffee
haven’t inspired me to get up
and drag my trash
to the curb.
summer mornings
were once filled
with children racing down
the hall curious
to know where the next road-trip
would take us, but
they are miles away now
and, busy with their own kids,
rarely visit anymore.
two cardinals play tag as they flit
from branch to ground
and back again,
a tiny sliver of life on display
just the other side
of my rusted screen.
and with a half-empty cup
still in my weathered hand,
wonder where all
those mornings might
have gone.
