The first steps out into the morning
echo not in this valley
but here inside the mind.
I walk toward the golden beauty
the fuzzy grass leading to the mountain peak
the red and yellow flowers,
the sleeping nature.
It’s chill, the air not quite
the temperature to show breath
but wrapping the blanket firm around my shoulders.
I inhale the scattered remnants of night,
the soot from the campfire
the wetness of dew
the aroma of sunlight on my skin
And then, like the bubbling of the brook
like the wafting scent of coffee
like the twigs that snap and crunch
like the tingling that stings my fingertips
like the delicious squeeze of my heart