In the moments before
that yellowish orange ball
raises its head
above the pale blue,
before the day begins its business
and footprints
mark the surface of the earth,
I stop,
watch the world
slowly stretch and open its eyes,
transported
on beams of white light,
to my grandmother.
Each summer
she rode the rails
on the El Capitan,
carried kosher meals
in a brown bag,
and had the air of someone
from another place, another time.
I am still
that wide eyed, six-year-old
creeping down darkened stairs,
catching her in morning prayers,
mouthing words from memory,
standing, grey hair covered,
false teeth smiling from a water glass.
Once again,
I sit silently,
watching in wonder and awe,
basking in the morning’s calm presence,
and listening,
for the still, small voice
to speak wordlessly,
just before rays of sunshine
make their appearance.
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Larry, one of my favourites so far! I also have vivid memories of creeping downstairs to watch my amazing grandmother in the early dawn going about her morning rituals. Thank you for reminding me of those wonderful, magical times.
Larry, it was my grandfather who I watched in the early mornings as my brother and I crept to the barn for the pre-dawn cow milking. A peaceful time and wonderful memories. Thank you.