Sunday Morning

Snow Stream

 

I’m up before the sun,

I can’t help it.

My internal clock

doesn’t recognize the weekend.

Hot coffee,

aroma radiates.

The little one,

soundly sleeps.

Time to write.

Nah, I can’t.

Too early,

the sun rising.

Birds still silent,

like newly fallen snow.

Winter on a Sunday.

Java brewed.

Thoughts new.

The wife’s to-do,

awaits.

All I want

is playoff pigskin.