Poetry

Frost: Morning in the McDowells

Posted 5/13/21

Early morning sun shafts spike through mountain peaks lighting up the haloed prickly pear and stately saguaro, while wisps of pink clouds on a blue backdrop angle away and south to where the sky is …

To Our Valued Readers –

Visitors to our website will be limited to five stories per month unless they opt to subscribe.

For $5.99, less than 20 cents a day, subscribers will receive unlimited access to the website, including access to our Daily Independent e-edition, which features Arizona-specific journalism and items you can’t find in our community print products, such as weather reports, comics, crossword puzzles, advice columns and so much more six days a week.

Our commitment to balanced, fair reporting and local coverage provides insight and perspective not found anywhere else.

Your financial commitment will help to preserve the kind of honest journalism produced by our reporters and editors. We trust you agree that independent journalism is an essential component of our democracy. Please click here to subscribe.

Sincerely,
Charlene Bisson, Publisher, Independent Newsmedia

Please log in to continue

Log in
I am anchor
Poetry

Frost: Morning in the McDowells

Posted

Early morning sun shafts spike through mountain peaks lighting up the haloed prickly pear and stately saguaro, while wisps of pink clouds on a blue backdrop angle away and south to where the sky is not yet ready for day.

I find myself pausing more than walking,
Listening more than thinking,
Seeing more than watching, and...
Feeling more than usual.

Being careful not to tumble small rocks in my path or brush the prickly branch of the Foothill Palo Verde, I look for new experiences. The color of light as it dances through a Chuparosa bush, the song of a sage thrasher and smell of the dew moistened desert mountain floor elevate my spirits.

I find myself wishing more than dreaming,
Leaving footprints rather than words,
Being more random than focused,
Feeling more alive than usual.

Perched on a grainy lichen-colored boulder, I watch the sun warm the desert floor, lighting its path with yellow brittlebush. I wish that I were all of us so that we could embrace this moment as one. We could hear, see, feel, smell and be together as this rather normal dawn renews its world.

We would feel more peaceful than angry
Hear more than one heart beating,
See more than our reflection.
We would feel more than usual.

Editor’s Note: Bob Frost has been Scottsdale’s Poet Laureate since 2010. Mr. Frost, a Scottsdale resident, is ready to become the city’s first poet laureate emeritus. As he transitions to this position, Scottsdale seeks a new poet laureate.

Comments