Out Camp

Branches gently scratch the roof of my tent
as breezes filter softly through the trees
bringing scents of moisture, dust and cattle
wafting through the mesh like dream catcher sieves.

First one up, as always; pre-dawn buzz of
bugs and birds in dances devotional,
whether chased or eaten music prevails:
wooded abbey matins emotional.

There are embers down beneath the ashes
blown into a cookfire hot for coffee
not ready for any bacon, the smell
would wake up everyone; peace to be.

Coffee mug and folding chair sit perched high
above a cliff over the water fall,
watching the sun rise across the chasm
ambered moment left alone with it all.