Morning Medicine

I take in, here on the little house porch, seated on a
softening cushion in the straight-backed chair Jim Lemon made for me,
dawn light spreading over every awakening thing,
warm tea in hand, butter melting into homemade sourdough bread,
eyes full of yellow wildflowers and burgeoning greenness, as
plop, a single dewdrop falls from the roof onto the lap of my red robe,
and air is suddenly a gentle whisper against the side of my face, and
the soft flutter, whir, of wren’s wing (or is it sparrow, I was never good at names),
ascends to her yearly little twiggy nest over my head in the eaves of the porch,
and then, at last, eyes closed, hands tucked warmly into the folds of my robe,
I take in the full chorus of birdsong, I take it in as the first person
who ever imagined a symphony must have done, unique sounds here, there, everywhere,
each distinct yet all joined in one vibrant chorale of praise of the new day,
I take it in, all of it, even as eventually it all quietens, and I,
I am dissolved into that place, space, timeless state of Being, Wellness, at home.