A Morning Lullaby

Above me, lying here in bed contemplating

the sun rising over the lake,

the darkness of night giving way to light

illuminating a world, like me, slowly waking,

fighting the sleep lingering -- above me,

the squirrels, up early and out of their nests,

scamper across the roof, the scratching

of their tiny feet, scurrying, soft

in the moss that grows there, the rhythm

of their dashing erratic, and the long pauses

punctuated by their chatter, short chirps

or the long trill of clicks rising and falling,

a decrescendo falling off, and gone silent, off again

to scamper, scurry, dash across my roof,

reason enough to lay here where I am,

quilted warm under these covers pulled tight,

contemplating squirrels, in no hurry to rise,

to scurry about myself, here, out of place,

to begin this day that begins with them,

a morning lullaby of squirrels awakened early,

their tiny feet soft, scampering across my roof.