Of misted valleys spread out across the countryside as spider's webs like the veins on the back of my grandma's hands and of warming hilltops shaking off a blanket of fog that allows not the sleeping in for dreaming time is over and to miss morning stuff is to miss a dream come true.
if you can dream; you can fly...if you are flying; you are dreaming.
Ahhh...unfortunately I usually see dawn through the windshield of my car...on my way to work (ugh!) But your poem is lovely, and accurately describes those mornings I have sat on the porch, with no particular place to go, and watched the world unfurl in light.
It's not the love you fear, but the fall from the height~Edwin McCain
[This message has been edited by caroline (edited 12-18-1999).]
Robert this was good! My grandma had those veins in here hand and when I was little I used to call them spiders. hehe...thanks for that memory! Miss a lot when we don't see the morning, the beautiful sunrises and such.