from my recent journey through British Columbia and Alberta, Canada
Wheat Field with Rising Sun, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889
The sun sneaks up in Seattle,
light filtering through layers
of cloud, needle, and leaf.
Some days only birds can tell
that dawn has come at all.
Along the Thompson River,
smooth hills hardly hinder
the whole sky's growing glow.
Still I resist rising
until the sun turns its spotlight
upon my thin tent door
and morning insists
that it not be ignored.
This is beautiful ... my favorite lines ~ the last two!
ReplyDeleteMost always, I resist rising.
ReplyDeleteThe hidden sun also rises.
ReplyDeleteWonderful, T.
This is a beautiful poem, all the way through.
ReplyDelete