Every Morning It Feels New to Me

A leaf falls. 
A bird sings.
A bee winds her way from flower to flower
and the sun shines on the ivy carpeting the rhododendron thicket.
How many times have I described this to you?
Every morning it feels new to me.
The same bees.
The same birds.
The same rhododendron blossoms bursting pink and white amidst their long-fingered leaves.
The same mossy ground and the same dried leaves crunching underfoot, new life springing up, lead buds from the forest floor.
The same blue sky and white puffy clouds and gentle breezes rustling the trees so they look as if they are dancing in time to the bird’s symphony.
My eyes take in the greens on greens and baby blues and pink and white as I breathe in the musky smell of forest air 
and I want to tell you about the yellow hairy caterpillar inching past 
and the berry-colored flower petals reaching up 
and the bird in the feeder fluttering her wings and eying me warily
and the trees reverberating as the fleeing flock of birds flies away.

I wish for you the peace of a crisp mountain morning and a lazy afternoon.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019


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