At dawn I walk onto the cool deck and look out over the hillside
The new-mown hay lays in long rows, darker against the green stubble now.
I wait to catch some hint of yesterday’s delicious aroma from the baking field
But there are no sunrays and no heat
And the only scent is that of fresh morning.
A passing schoolbus on the far highway reminds me of time and date
And the luxury and the evanescence of my day and season.
I rest and wait for breakfast at the Inn while hundreds of children,
Some reluctant, some sleepless, some in dread, march to school
And thousands start cars and drive the same eleven miles to the office
One more time.