This Early Morning

This morning, the sun-rise dapples bright yellow hues onto the dark green leaves, creating a lemon-lime splash. The trees are still after a brief, breezy, sober night. The cool air chills the skin. This morning the birds are unseen, though their greetings, their songs, delight. The trees within which they twill reach for the sky, for each other.. they are of a lavish Summer flush; they feel honored to be so adorned by the Sun, to wear such a golden effulgence. Though they remain watchful, on guard. This morning, a shy cricket or two meekly chants. This morning, the windows of the apartments quietly refract the sunlight; their egg-shell-white blinds sleep. This morning is of a painting, oils of mellifluous sky colors.