Now the Light

I sit listening to Depeche Mode as I watch the first soft strokes of daylight paint lime across the long, grassy prairie beyond my drive.  The distant mountains remain ghost-blue while nighthawks plunge into the dawn from the edge of darkness.  The nighthawks drop like black stones cast from the stars.  The birds unfurl and transform into flying chevrons just before they strike the earth.

Incessantly early.   Wholly alone again.

I feel the coming of light.

I feel the drums inside me.

--Mitchell Hegman