Dear

A pink sky at the sun's dawning. 

Capricious in the mute incandescence, the clouds adorn themselves in a color somewhere between blue and violet. 

I ride on the wind, gilded in the callow morning. 

In the distance copses of trees, rigid, relax and slacken in the light, 

releasing tension wrought by the chill of night. 

As they wake, 

yawning, 

with breath like pines 

they perfume the air. 

Deer, 

perched on blonde hills 

beside the highway, raise their heads and look up at the passing cars. 

Wooden

and stoic, 

their stolid faces staring. 

Impassive, like a child's stuffed animal, their black button eyes look through mine, 

beyond me, beyond the hills; beyond time.  

With movements paradoxical, 

flitting like phantoms -

though stilled as stone statues - 

they appear inanimate and impermanent fixtures 

afloat on the river of time. 

Like creatures in a dream.