ONE SUMMER MORNING  

Dawn comes in cool,         

          attended by a clamour of birds.

They call,

         from point to point,

design,      

          sound in three dimensions,

disturb,

           the freize of sleep.   

Dreams loom suddenly                               

                                out of the mist                  

                  Steep rain-drenched hills                  

                  ancient tree                   

                  and fern

A shadowed land               

                          tilts towards the morning light

 Strange birds call,                  

                    bell abstract notes 

                               from ridge to ridge –

The echoes linger yet.    

Mary Brigham©