Morning Wanders

There's a place I know
where the path widens.
Two Adirondack chairs
await the weary
so you can sit
and perhaps
in that eerie, foggy
morning's light
converse,
or swap a trouble or two.

Or maybe
simply sit, at ease,
and watch
as the morning
ripens and gather
the colors that bloom
like so many flowers
in a meadow.

Perchance, you shiver,
wrap your shawl tighter
and think of coffee
and home. But there's
just that something,
that early scent,
that beckons onward.

It's tricky,
the timing
is never static,
varies
each morning.
But for the patient,
the lucky,
the determined,
you can catch
that precise moment
between blinks,
between heartbeats,
when
dawn comes down
to day.