Summer predawn looms long,
grey creeps, lightens,
promises a sun slow to come.
Loon cries give way
to the call of song birds,
as the reluctant day dispels the night.
Sunlight on water creates it’s own magic,
awakens attention to the moment,
even as the past drips like dew
from trees whose memories
reach back, before
my grandmother’s birth.
Will their future outlast mine,
or has our presence ended theirs?
© 2019, Melissa Rendlen
The BeZine 