I love the solitude.
The quiet of the mountain morning.
Trees rising from the ground.
Upper branches first to welcome the sun.
Unless of course, the morning brings fog,
which is frequent.

A light gentle glowing in these trees,
our world exists within this cocoon.
The ridge lies beyond in our knowing
and in the dreams we hold close.
But, in the moment this soft shell
is our world.

Your voice and morning movements
are part of the solitude.
Familiar and comforting
you breathe life into the day.
Soft and beautiful
I love the sounds you make.

And your voice floating in the quietness,
a word or two along with
the morning ritual of wiggling dogs,
warm and full of life,
jockeying for a spot on our lap,
content as they settle in their space.

The cats prowling around
still not getting along with each other,
trust not yet established.
But we have hope they will accept
each other, as we accept them,
completely, with love.

The smell of coffee pulling our lips
to the cup for a drink,
speaking in a voice
not heard by the ear
but so well known
that the arm follows the silent command.

Awakening, the sleep leaves our eyes.
Another day unfolds knowing our time
will travel, unknown paths,
until later they cross
with soft words ending the day
and entering the embrace of night.