A Bit Late

It is a little late in the morning
to begin the writing, too late because
so much sun and wind, so much blowing past me
that it is hard to grasp a thought, a feeling.
It all feels fleeting, a mix of heart and practicality,
no place to settle, my little soldiers
in the thick of battle, no time to properly think,
much less, feel.

About this poem.

I love writing first thing in the morning. When my brain has not been filled with the busyness of the day. That’s when the truth leaks out.

Some days (today!) that does not work out.

The picture was taken at the very tip end of Cape Cod. My second favorite place in the world.

Tom