Zen Dawn

I didn’t used to be a morning person –

when I slept better.

But it’s something to watch the stars fade into the brightening sky,

to hear the day break,

the birds in the trees,

the incessant hum – sometimes near,

sometimes far –

of rubber on pavement,

the crush of the city trash trucks

compacting garbage just over the canyon rim,

hydraulics whining,

heavy metal banging on metal.

It’s a magical time,

abundant parking,

the sidewalks clear of all but last night’s debris

and the occasional walker or jogger.

I smelled bacon frying as I walked past the Eldridge this morning.

Let me be clear, I added only a whiff of irony to this poem for effect.

Morning is a magical time.

Downtown Lawrence isn’t the only magical place in the universe,

but it’s one of them –

if you’ve learned how to be.