Marsh Morning

when it's blue o'clock in the morning, predawn mist thickens with birdsong:

geese honk their way to the marsh lake where open stretches of water still hold the evening stars and ducks 
drift among cattails and lilies, catching a squeem of fish 
rippling up through dark water ...

the shoreline is alive with herons and terns and the land beyond the water's edge rolls with kettles and eskers, drumlins and kames, home to the harrier, plover and coot

in that moment a first burst of sunlight sluices through pines, stiffening in the wind, 
I am like the lake, still mirroring the dimming stars, whispering welcome to light that has journeyed so far to meet me.