Before dawn I rise.
I recall the conversation
of yesterday evening
tempered by dreams
of what today will bring.
Winter darkness is settling in.
A few weeks ago
the morning birds called busily —
now there is only a lone owl’s
and a rustle of breeze in the leaves.
A mug of coffee
warms the hands
seeps into the chill that envelopes me.
You scan the silver sky
above still-black trees
will the light bring a crisp golden sun
or sodden, driven clouds?
An autumn day makes no promises.