Morning Light

The gift of dawn I often fight, hiding from the morning light which silently slips beneath the darkest shades contrite. Raising my lashes, caressing my cheek, warm on silken sheets, a divine stretch arches my back, as the morning light I greet. Footfall meet a sheepskin rug which cushions arch and searching toes, arms over head, I stretch again, and find a blue terry-cloth robe. Down miss matched stairs I tread with care to the purr of Smokey cat, tuna for him, tea for me, a friendly cuddle and a tete-a-tete. Then out I go, onto the back porch, to an ancient wooden chair, to welcome the day watching morning birds in the summer air.