trail for prose

Remembering a perfect morning in the July of my youth.

 Six a.m. came none too soon
I was up to join the birds.
The sun stood smiling down
A brightness warmth beyond my words.
As I packed my thoughts to go
I could feel my heart pound.
I crept down the creaky stairway
Door closed with little sound.
There was no early morning chill
I was fervent with anticipation.
Striding anxiously down the road
Through the schoolyard, past the station.
There would be all day to play…
To ride my bike or toss the ball
For now my focus was very clear…
And I could hear this other call.

At last the dirt trail,  framed by dew
My pace grew more rapid still.
Soon I would see the brook
And beside it was my hill.
Perched there on top of the world
I spent many a boyhood morn.
While all around me life began
As another new day was born.
Sometimes I would just lie there
Studying each nuance of sky.
Imagining some world beyond
Where clearest blue was not so high.
Where every breath of air is fresh…
Where peaceful thoughts reside.
A place where discovery goes on…
Where days like this have never died.

sky for prose

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