The curious sun lifts and peeks under The river's morning mists, and gloom is lit By bright fog. The day promises thunder And heat, but my stressed, worry-wart wit Is hushed by soft silence. My wife hums A hymn to herself, reading her Bible, And I just smile, look at my lazy thumbs, And then lift my gaze to gulp an eyeful Of beauty. This has been here all along But I just didn't see it. In movies The actors never notice the theme song But now I hear the light in morning leaves. Why worry if my uncharged cellphone dies When I've got a call straight from the skies?
Sunrise's Swansong 
Thank you for sharing such summer river music. It pushes up my own past times with a blade singing their waters. sleeping and dining by them, waking ;and bedding by their breaking an;d waning light. Once there was the gift of long moments of incredible astonishing splendor below the surface. For a time even the flotation I wore was overcome by the strong current and I just drifted along underneath enjoying a seldom tour revealed in clear spring fed water. The splendor of cypress filtered light flashing in unending surface patterns that played upon the scenery dazzled the eye. The stony bed festooned with large boulders decorated with Irish green mosses and spread over with countless details furnished by little creatures and aquatic plants was another whole different way of seeing. I think if that river had kept me, I would not have bothered to mind.