verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Morning Secret

I have a secret.  When morning nudges me awake, I know it's there, waiting, and with single-minded swiftness, I am on my way to go find it. This morning I let Tucker come along to see it too.  We move about without talking, as if we are on a mission.  No one is there when we get there.  It's only us. It's just us....

We move along quietly--we are part of this secret, now that we're there.  Along the way, clues are revealed. A mother duck and her six fuzzy babies. The fog hovering over the water and young geese swimming stilly.   The swamp with the band of bullfrogs, invisible, playing their jazzy sounds, and vibrating the air.  Raspberries cheerfully dot the greens. No one is there but us, making this morning secret ours, alone.

We find the spot to sit and watch.  Tuck has a sip of the pond while I study a lone white lily pad.  The geese stir a bit as the sun breaks over the orchard and the red-winged black bird settles close by.  And then it appears. We both spy it. Don't move--be very still.  You'll scare it off, I remind us.  We are both still, breathing only shallow breaths, taking it in slowly and again and again.  Tuck and I look at each other and say nothing, but we smile as we leave. This is the sweetest of secrets.

On our way back, the early morning of morning is melting away.  The fog is lifting and the buzz begins.  Cyclists zip by.  The church bell chimes.  Koby and her friend are coming our way.  Tuck and Koby exchange nuzzles and he looks back at her as she heads down the path. Tomorrow's coming, I remind him.  We'll be back.

Until then Tucker, shhhhhhh....

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