Stillness holds the moment,
Yet morning things begin to stir.
Sleep to waking, sunrise stretches,
Straining beams pick out and straighten.
Brilliant sun with feathered edges shortens shadows.
Seeping warmth surrounds and softens,
River mist still sleepy, drifting,
Myriads of midges shifting —
All this, yet day is only fledgling.by Hugh Adamson