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Betty Luceigh
October, 2014

A gentle country morning
I sit upon my deck
among motionless leaves,
my dog lies in wait
of a fox or deer to chase,
a woodpecker squawks obscenities
to a finch on his branch,
the thirsty river below
hums a shallow tune,
and the sun’s first rays of morn
peek over the mountaintop beyond
and cast stories in its shadows
upon surfaces nearby.

A gentle country morning
I am peaceful, calm,
’til a bee seeks entry in my coffee–
my mug, however, covered,
spurred by scary stories
of those who drank before they looked
but the bee flies elsewhere
my fear on its back.

My eyes move downward
to a shadow near my foot
a colorless hummingbird in profile
cautiously approaches
my dog’s water bowl
he shares generously.

I sit in wonder
at this great mystery
of co-existence:
dog and bee
sun and shadows
squawks and hums
…and me.
I read the signals
through my senses
remembering our interdependence.

For there would be no experience
of my own existence
if nothing else were there
on this gentle country morning.