The waning moon floats in the soft southwest blue of the morning. Clouds catch the first light and throw pink reflections. The air is clear. A soft wind stirs across the desert where saguaros look like unstrung telephone poles, lost from purpose, yet standing tall. In the distance a mourning dove is cooing, glad to sense the coming day.
All the desert is waiting for the sun to rise.
Copyright 2013
Wanda Hayes Eichler
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