|I dreamed this morning I woke back in North Carolina...
It was early morning in the stillness before waking
The sky was pregnant with the new sun not yet born.
There's a chill in the air as cold as leaving warm covers
Shivering, I find the briskness lifts my spirit.
A patch of fog, like a spider's web, is draped over the meadow grasses
which lay across the
valley like cloth on my Mother's lap
The distant mountains are blue as the heavy dew is lifting.
Dark pines, robed and holy, spread their arms in blessing.
Grasses soaked in dew cradle a warm hollow where a rabbit slept.
Daisies heads bowed in a row, narrowing my path.
After a few steps, my shoes are dew-drenched and cold.
A luminous spider's web flutters in the wake of Morning Doves
flushed into flight at
the soft footfalls.
The light sweetness of a cricket chirping
hangs still in the air
with the scent of elderberry flowers
The gentle tauble-tauble of a hidden brook and the call of tree
are woven lightly with
And the quiet caw of crows is carried swift with drifting clouds
which stretch like a
Their shifting forms scripting a poem in calligraphy across the
familiar, yet unreadable,
like Latin words sung in choir.
Suddenly, the sky opens out like trembling blue morning glories
and the new morning sun
is born across the wispering valley.
-- by Kiki, Jan. 28, 1997