Early Morning in June

Sometimes during these hot June days, I wake up at first light and walk out to the garden. There I can watch the sun coming up over the pine trees while I sip my coffee, still barefoot, still in my bathrobe. The dogs are frisky in early morning, the birds beginning to tune up. The garden looks refreshed after a good watering the night before.

I can remember being a young girl waking up before dawn and looking out my bedroom window where the huge oak trees would be coming back, beginning to take shape, and in the distance a dog barking. Anything seemed possible then, the day waiting like quivering promise just at the edge of my sight.

A few weeks ago I led a poetry workshop at Lake Logan, where the Women Writers Retreat was held, sponsored by Western North Carolina Woman magazine (wnc-woman.com). In our first session I began with my usual free-write, a riff on "I Remember." Here is what I hastily scribbled into my notebook

Luz
I remember light at the top of the chimney where swallows lived, light through the cracks of the barn's roof,t he window blinds, the top of my head where the comic books showed the lightbulb coming on and voila! there it is--- the light, the luz , the lazy way looking up on a hot day can make me feel dizzy , the sun bearing down and then later the moon coming up with its pail of cool golden water.