Tendrils of fog drift idly
in low-lying hollows.
A thick, vaporous contrail,
lit to a dazzling white
by the rising sun,
bisects the pink morning sky.
The sun’s rays play peek-a-boo
through the trunks of the maple trees,
cavorting amidst the branches,
striping the damp pavement,
flashing in my eyes
as I run past on this early morning.
Certainty blooms.
It’s going to be a beautiful day.
What a great way to start your day and your run. I need to look for such beauty when I am out and about. This is a beautiful poem. I felt like I was there too.
LikeLike
Thanks, Amy. I’ve been really enjoying the beautiful mornings lately and running is a great way to get out and appreciate them.
LikeLiked by 1 person