A poem about coming home at night and waking up in the morning
Like a warm blanket pulled over shoulders,
I drove home in twilight and fog.
Tiny stars twinkled overhead;
the fog floated, ethereal
blurring everything, making headlights look owlish.
The quarter moon hung in the western sky
gauzy from the fog and clouds, shining brightly.
Past Christmas lights and stop lights,
I pull into the driveway, to home.
Like a blanket pulled back from feet,
the morning woke sluggish during my commute.
Fog blanketed the coast,
shapes and lights appearing and disappearing
in the floating white wisps.
Then over the hill – the orange sun bursting from
the retreating cloud cover.
Blue sky peeked while the clouds were
slowly drawn back.
The sun lit the hills and water,
chasing away the clouds, bringing light.
The day starts with joy.