The sun slips up above the level land,

caught and squeezed into a hazy, yellow ball,

surrounded by the last lingering grayness of the night.


The shining, dripping green of the leaves and trees

flashes and sparkles; and struggling little sunbeams,

young and smiling, report to the asking sun

that the worn earth has been freshened by its shower of dew,

made clean and new and ready by the night.

The sun dawns and yesterday’s world is innocent.


My trespassing footfalls are loud and hard and harsh.

The crickets’ purring, the crisp little breeze

swaying the luxuriant leaves of the wakened trees,

the scampering, squeaking squirrels, the tweeting little birds –

these simple sounds in nature’s morning concerto

do not disturb the rhythm and the wonder of the peaceful stillness.

  Somehow, they lushly accompany her solo of silence.

But my human footsteps intrude.


A car comes roaring into earshot

– motor sound, friction fighting power, blatant, brazen ugliness

violate the silence, blanch, break, bury the stillness,

boasting noise like a challenge, blasting away into oblivion.


Slowly the little sounds recover,

the peppy, pretty, resounding and timeless

silence in the green parlor of the sun.


My steps crunch and crinkle and intrude.

I open the door to my sleeping house.

Convicted, ashamed, I quit the arena,

leaving the field to the gentle victor.

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