Sunday Morning

A single crow caws its cry of dawn

as the neighborhood awakens,

takes its Sunday yawn.

My head groggy, thoughts thick

and slow as churned butter,

body dense, shoulders tense,

and why wouldn’t this be

the fact after a week such as this?

Yet guitar music floats

into my little home, fills

this brisk air on the lazy deck,

where I’m cozy warm

in my favorite sweatshirt.

A spacious sky

silently overlays

all the day today,

even the still, dozing street

blinks, then starts to smile 

in its tired morning stretch.