TheBanyanTree: Golden

[Margaret R. Kramer]

My dream dissolved and I rolled over to look at the clock.  It was ticking
towards 5 am.  I had to think quickly, what day is this?  Is it Friday?  Did
I oversleep?  No, it’s Saturday.  It was OK to sleep until well past 5 am if
I wanted to.

I heard the furnace clunk on and listened to the fan blowing warm air
through the house.  It was safe to get up and know that my feet wouldn’t
tingle from the cold floors.

I get the coffee brewing, fill the dogs’ water dish, and let them roam
outside.  As my eyes adjust to the dark, I look towards the back of my yard.
The deer have been particularly aggressive towards the bird feeders these
past few weeks.  Even when the feeders are empty, it looks like the deer
have wrestled with them during the night, trying to get at any spare seed
they could suck out of them.  The pole for one of the feeders is bent over
like an old man.  The tube feeder is always laying on the ground, topless,
looking like a broken toy.

The dogs run back in the house and the black cat races outside.  I go out
the front door to collect the newspapers.  The Minneapolis paper is at the
end of our driveway and the St. Paul paper is on our stoop.

The cool air welcomes me.  There is no wind.  There is no rustling from the
coloring leaves on our birch tree.  A dry crunch-crunch-crunch filters
through the pre-dawn morning as I walk towards the driveway.  That dry,
expectant smell wafts from the leaves below my feet.

The sky is still black.  But I can see thin wispy clouds streaming towards
the east, towards the rising sun.  The crescent moon hangs almost directly
above me trying to collect its errant star children and get them to bed
before the sun makes its appearance.  Only the brightest stars are left and
the moon seems to be having a difficult time rounding them up.

I get the papers and go back into the house.

Then the first light races over the horizon.  It’s just enough to turn the
sky into gold.  And the gold spreads downward onto the trees, the houses,
the ground, and the gardens.  The yellows and reds and oranges begin to
shimmer and glisten.

Three pumpkins sitting on my neighbor’s stoop glow a bright orange as the
sun’s light goes higher and intensifies.

The neighborhood dogs begin to bark.  The magic moments between night and
day give way to a brilliant October morning.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net

http://www.polarispublications.com
Be a star!

http://www.bpwmn.org
Business and Professional Women of Minnesota

You wouldn't believe
On All Hallow Eve
What lots of fun we can make,
With apples to bob,
And nuts on the hob,
And a ring-and-thimble cake.
~Carolyn Wells