Friday, February 25, 2011

2 AM

I am up in the trees, 3 stories with the roof tops.
A sleeping baby heavy in my arms.
The clouds glow in the city lights
Puffs of smoke, wisps of cotton, boiling waves roll over the distant mountains as the wind pushes them through the crevices.
The moon peeks out, trailing a soft crescent towards morning.

1 comment:

  1. Oh to find beauty in the moments when you really would rather be sleeping.