I slow wake

to an early winter morning.

The sky is sliding

from a midnights’s dark, opaque

into a low glow mist,

as Gods fingers on

todays reostat

turn us towards the light.

We keep our thermostat set low

for a cool nights sleep.

Thus we are covered

by cotton sheets,

fleece blankets

and a heavy quilted spread.

There is, here, underneath,

a funky, moist warmth

between us.

We are two logs in a fire place,

warming,

melting into each other

in the low flames,

burning hotter

than any four logs might

if spaced

apart,

on the grate.

The world wakes before us

at day break.

The human hum increases.

I know there are folks,

by force or choice

already at work

or stuck in traffic,

on their way

listening to the news.

A worry here,

a conflict there,

there’s always trouble everywhere.

Right now,though,

I can’t muster care.

I will be,

sometime later today,

maybe,

responsible,

concerned

for my fellows and their predicaments.

Just now, though,

wrapped,

surrounded,

deep in our warm cocoon,

older,

retired from the race

these dozen years,

I feel I have earned

these few mornings doze,

blissfully ignoring all

that frenetic pace

before all there is

is

sleep.