I wake in the
pre-dawn amid a swirl of stars in the indigo heavens. Stars hover silently just outside my opened
bedroom window. Stars nest in the nearby
bullpine and rest atop the array of mountains beyond. A coyote reports from, a distant ravine.
I must get up
now. Before first light.
I need to be
there, with a cup of coffee in hand, when the first songbird cheep-cheeps
from within the canopy of my Mayday tree.
This is real only if I am there.
—Mitchell Hegman
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