Sunrise Quandary

The day after the mistral the winter sun rose clean and triumphant above the horizon.
Some stray clouds dressed in purple for the occasion, and the pepper tree put on some crimson ribbons.
Two planes traced pink vapor trails in a spotless sky over the Med who was lying still in faded jeans, spent from yesterday’s wild dance of frenzied stomping, jumping, and slapping, to the wind’s rhythm.
I watched the planes’ trails morph into feathers, festooned cords, and ribbons, then masquerade as waves on a beach before vanishing. All that time wondering … will I ever be beautiful enough for you.
A mourning dove flew by in a flash of copper wing, landed on the roof, looked at me and said nothing.

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
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10 Responses to Sunrise Quandary

  1. You write about the natural world around you in a way that I can only dream about. Wonderful


  2. mixedupmeme says:

    You weren’t listening. The dove said:

    Get up off that wet ground.
    Get your eyes out of the clouds.
    Get those rag tag jeans off.
    Get in the shower and get that romping and stomping of the night before off.
    Get on a bit of makeup.
    Then maybe he will think you are beautiful.


  3. alarmingman says:

    You are, after all, the Miraculous Mistress of the Morning…


  4. pjb1943 says:

    Hi Emm,
    This was a really nice, very descriptive imagery and I liked it a lot. Nice job !


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