Teaspoon Thoughts

With only the crickets chatter To keep me company, The breaking dawn Lets herself in Tiptoes, with the lightness Of a cat's footfall, Sits down at my tin topped table, That we might spend quiet time In reflection and expectation. I pour myself into a cup of coffee And measure my teaspoon thoughts... The leftover rain Swells the thirsty ground, Dew dances on a spider's web Woven outside my kitchen window I love these empty hours, All is fresh and fragrant There is much promise In this solitude of Sunday, That I dare to linger, longer, Drawing deep, on my cigarette, Slow to pick up the pace... I measure my teaspoon thoughts Not quite prepared For the daily headlines, I'll steal another glimpse Of sunrise... For FREE.... And leave the newspaper on the lawn... Weightless watching the morning Come to life... The slender fingers of a breeze Caress the hanging chimes Creating a symphony of sweet awakening, No voices, as yet, to disturb The orchestrated majesty That is my morning. If this is not joy, what, then? To be serenaded by the breathing song Of Autumn's entrance With little to burden me today I contemplate which way I'll walk My graying dog, Who stays asleep, Still in my bed... As if to relinquish his guard duty Trusting me to welcome The acquaintance of this day... For now, little affects my calm... I, alone, have a blank canvas On which to paint my early hours. So I sit, and sip, And measure... My teaspoon thoughts