I step outside just at sunrise,
another damp warm southern day,
then turn my face toward gray skies
where clouds dance and tree tops sway.
Warm misty rain falls on my face.

I draw in a humid breath of air
closing my eyes to taste the wind .
Honey suckle's blooming everywhere
a smell I greet like an old friend.
A familiarity which I embrace.

Wild hedge adds its musty scent
as well as the cedar on my house.
Spring's arrival is now apparent
to my nose which quivers like a mouse.
Green eyes open to assess this place.

Cardinals, finches, sparrows and doves
crowd and fuss around their feeder now
competing with flaps, pecks and shoves.
Yet they all manage to get seed somehow.
Of manners they don't have a trace.

Next vision turns toward the ground
and spy rabbits and squirrels foraging there
eating shelled corn I'd spread around
for them and other life to share.
I like watching them around the place.

And somewhere near I hear a crow
likely pestering some kind of hawk.
He's really raising quite a row.
I wish that I could speak crow talk.
On my wrist the watch hands fly.

Which reminds me I must go
so I get into my old red truck
and thus re-enter real world so
as to make a living with some luck
in a world moving at a faster pace.