The Sun Breaking Thru On A Cloudy Morning Coffee Muses

And then, a rain shower passing, sun shining…

Vulture courses on the wind, following unseen currents through the air…

Cardinals sit on pulpits of high green, passing judgement on the world with a song…

A congregation of Jays feathered in blue sky, answering with a chorus of calls…

Morning rituals in a life where nature is the cathedral, doors never closed…

The organ sounds supplied courtesy of BNSF, air horn blowing the crossings bye and bye…

The thunder of steel on steel, first rising then falling as if a storm is rushing past….

The pulpit and the congregation quiet, waiting… waiting, then all at once everyone voices their prayers…

Quiet falls, giving rise to a noisesome sound, clouds close in, a bird of metal arrows over, a distant roar…

Rivers of air move trees here and there, currents churning hither and yon…

The soft sounds of woodwinds, wind sighing thru the pines, rustling oaks, bending grasses… The sounds of March…

Wal-Mart gulls winging over, tracing their path thru troublesome air, from parking lot to parking lot… eating the leavings of mickey dees meal sacks…

My coffee muses have now bottomed out, not even the dregs left in the bottom of the cup… but memories are called fourth…

Long ago, far away from where I sit, I would’ve been sipping from a white saucer as my Grandparents and I saucer and blowed our way thru scalding cups of instant…

Morning and afternoon, rituals of coming together, shared with family, shared with neighbors… rural rituals, sweets and coffee, shared at a kitchen table, shared in a living room by a fire…

I, the youngster, sharing in rituals two…three generations removed from the now of my life then… friendly people, strangers becoming family, all gone now…

Memories remain…