Sunday morning.
Woke to a chorus of
birds;
flickers tapping
rhythm on trees.
In the field beyond
the woods,
Canada geese
honking;
hound dogs yapping
in unison.
I take my coffee
and books
to the pier to read
and write.
Only one boat on
the river.
A fish jumps;
there’s activity below.
Slight breeze stirs
the windsock tails.
Pleasant morning;
supposed to get hot later.
Summer’s last gasp—
not yet ready to
leave for the season.
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