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Again, I was lucky enough to glimpse the newness of it all,
Idly gazing across the sea,
which looked like crinkled old dry skin, nothing moving, belying the power beneath.

Slowly, slowly, nothing forced.
There, in the distance, as if through a tear in the crust,
the expected arrival of the fiery golden wonder,
makes its appearance.

Slowly, gathering it's force,
momentarily it lies rocking on the knife-edge of the horizon,
then with one final burst of confidence,
rises into the sky
in celebration, of a new day,
Its morning’s work now done.

Nothing left to do now,
but for me to put on 'Morning' from the Peer Gynt suite, by Edvard Grieg
and relax....

© Joan Tattan-Dennis, June 2009