Good Morning!

Last class, when Anne suggested that we maybe move our weekly sitting spot, I was strck distraught by this prospect. I like my spot. I've grown attached to my spot. I feel like there's so much left to do and explore there. I've come to feel  comfortably alone and have even fallen asleep there a couple times. In order to increase my exposure to it, just to make sure it's the place I really want to be, I though it'd be cool to visit it at a very different time of the day. I really wanted to see how sitting there at sunrise would effect my vision of the spot. So this morning, just past 7 am, i trudged myself over to the pond in order to have a look-see at the spot I've visited on the same day at the same time for the past 6 weeks. I took a couple pictures, but they're all pretty lame and dark, or I would show them to you. What I think is more revealing is what I wrote while lying there. 

Sunrise Reflections

The overturned boat is still damp with dew and last night’s remnants of rain.
Good thing I don’t mind sitting on anything.
 
There are more geese than I’ve ever seen on the pond.
It feels like there’s more geese,
Move individual gooses,
Than I’ve ever seen together.
Although I know this can’t be the case.
 
The wind moves through the multi-chromatic leaves
Illusioning to the disturbing rustle of rain.
 
The sky is cloudy, grey
A day where the sun coming up will either have a huge impact
Or give no change at all
To the gloomy affair of the day.
 
There is one goose
Sitting on the concrete podium
I so desperately wish to go.
That little of island of adventure
Amidst miniscule tidal-waves of calm;
I feel like he is staring at me,
Even though I know that this cannot be true.
I see his rotating head, his outstretched profile
 
Shockingly, they fly all at once,
Frightened from some enigmatic catalyst
That I cannot see
And could never understand.
 
They react like barrel monkeys
Their individual noises
Linking onto each other’s
To make something much longer
And louder.
 
How long do I wait here to see a change
In something other by the birds;
Or are they the mass exodus
I was warned about?
 
And again they take off
A chaotic answer
To my quiet question.
 
A tiny little school of birds flocks by,
Nothing like the infinite train that just left my presence
Nut beautiful in its own right.
 
I had hoped, somehow, that coming here at this time would show me something magnanimously new,
Something overlooked at other times.
I think it has, but,
Of course,
Just like it’s always had,
It was nothing what I expected.
Nothing to do with the heliocentric sun
But everything to do with rhythmics of the day.
 
This supposed sunrise
Has made no difference in the color of the sky
Or the color of my visit.
It is the consequences of it
Which I see and incorporate
Into my own patterns.
 
We are not the only ones
Who take time to take away from trees;
Beavers can fall over 100 of them a year
(did you know?)
and I see miniscule squirrels
making a mockery of this statistic through a tiny
budding nest in the bough of a tree’s branches.
 
they are not very inconspicuous,
their pit-pattering feet
imitating the steady pattern of raindrops
on every individual leaf.