I love the way early morning sun
tilts its low-angled slant across the lawn.
The way the slender shoots of tender grass
just sprouted a week ago—
the way the fragile yellow blooms
of a scraggly rose bush
set near the corner of the house—
the way the billowing pale blue swirls of iris
set along the weathered boards of the neighbor’s fence—
catch the light.
The way coffee steams and curls into the still air,
the quiet calm of unhurried dawning,
the soft, unspoken hope
of this new day.