A Morning In Windsor

The air is soft, gentle and virgin
as a stubborn fog grips calmly onto a fragrant sky
that is barely functional as this morning in South Windsor
arises. There are no surprises

as I drive this road. The trees still glisten
in the early mist of mid-summer’s dew
as the slight silence of the sun begins to peek
through into another day anew. I love this feeling –

how the breeze sprays steadily against the waking
of my thoughts. A peaceful energy roams the fussy streets
now busy with the employees of life

who are focused in their travels towards destinations of hesitation.
I am one of them, hypnotized
by this everyday process but yet, aware
of these surroundings I cruise through daily, sometimes barley

paying attention to the elemental beauty
of a small town new to my existence but still listens
to the way I think. Often it is just me, this road and observance
with nothing between us except the same ole’ songs
playing on the radio. The urban ego in me

is not use to this kind of quiet. On each side of the road,
in its eleven minute stretch from South to East Windsor, there are free standing

forms of agriculture mixed with fields of tobacco
and decades of corn fields weaving and bobbing
in the slight wind caused by traffic
and in in my rear view window the many mixtures
of gray are opening up to an elegant shade
of blue.

As the suburban romance fades, I discover…this is that something
that happens daily to make our lives poetic

and on this morning in Windsor I feel the poetry
breathing through me.