Aubade

This morning, the garden hasn’t been about flowers. It’s been about the heavy mist that began the day … the fragrance of lilies that envelop the path and dominate my senses. The dew drops shine like diamonds as the sun reaches the tips of the grasses, and the neighbor’s wind chimes musically move the air. An early morning garden is sensual … not visual.

Down at the creek, the blue heron has returned from wherever he’s been nesting.

A few frogs who didn’t get the daylight memo continue to call out from their hollows.

Particles of nature float and flow on the top of the water in the morning, and yet I never see them at other times of the day.

None of this belongs to me. I’m a visitor, and I keep telling my thoughts to whisper so as not to scare the feelings of this morning away. Beautiful ...