GOOD MORNING INDIA

in silence mist falls gently upon the great treetops
Oh Weaver, you wrap your dreamy arms around all who live under your umbrella
hint of sunrise with splashes of magenta and gold
across early horizon, air pregnant with expectation
giant oaks cradled in the alpha heart unashamed in their nakedness.
early this morning I watched seven wild turkeys
cross a grassy knoll, their footprints in winter syncopation
against a snowy quilt
you braid secrets into their autumn breasts
these foragers of winter acorns
once obtained off they go doing their winter rumba
at other places, other knolls
this makes you belly laugh
you like to make angels in the snow
© jb