The hills are growing before my eyes,
pushing up into this new day's light.
A baby cries next door as I stand
in the morning mist, breathing ease
from atop my steaming cup of tea.
Cedar and Oak climb the hillside
arm in arm and, in a puddle below,
a single Starling, glittering with color,
drinks and steps into his morning bath.
The air is crisp and empty of language.