Mexico Saves Daylight
Nobody knows
what this new day
has in store for us.
The colors stolen by night
have not come back yet––
only the string of miniature Chinese lanterns
strung on the patio
glow their soft tones:
lavender, yellow, peach, rose, lime green.
Powered by energy stolen from the sun,
they light up this very early morning darkness
otherwise lit by the random stars of
streetlights undulating over roads that wind up foothills.
The mountain peak named Señor Garcia
stands against the gray predawn sky.
Colima volcano peers over his shoulder,
half-obscured by mist and clouds.
My day emerges.
Scatterings of lights twinkle
from the small pueblos across the lake.
Bats swoop and dart
after the last insects of the night,
then speed impossibly into second-story tejas
for their communal day’s rest.
The hot tub cover,
submerged a few inches beneath the water’s surface,
forms a mirror for the wild hair of palm trees.
Dried leaves rest on the water,
swirling in the breath of morning.
Roosters crow.
A cacophony of bird calls:
“Me hee hee hee hee hee. Me hee hee hee hee hee Me.”
scolds the most persistent of the lot.
Mourning doves answer in a register from another time.
The grind of trucks accelerating on the roadway far below
too small for trucks.
Church bells speak their language,
tolling the morning hour.
The round
subtle drone
of unseen bees
takes precedence
over all other sounds
as I move to the gazebo.
I picture a whole hive
moving to new quarters,
starting that process over again,
busy giving birth to their new home,
perhaps in the stark Guamuchil tree
that survives like a dinosaur
among the castor beans
in the jungled houseless lot next door.
Like one of those internet birthday cards
where an invisible hand
yields a brush
over a black and white drawing,
slowly, colors lost to the black night
emerge through the fog
of earliest morning blues and grays.
Rose pink of the first hint of sunrise.
Colors of houses on the mountains:
vivid orange and gold,
lime green and blue.
Bougainvillea silhouettes give way
to curly detail and bright color:
fuchsia, orange, peach, gold, brilliant white.
Three green foam noodles lie abandoned poolside,
caught in the arms of aloe vera
and by the crown of thorns.
Green washes the hillside
around the gold and brown
of last year’s corn stalks.
The diverse calls of grackles
join the morning conversation.
Quetzacoatl spreads his sinuous frame
over the entire wall above my bedroom doors
as though stretching his kinks out for the day ahead.
7:30 A.M., March 8, 2020,
announces the computer screen
glowing on my bedside table.
Coral sheets and a blue pillowcase.
A large watercolor of a woman
with birds perched on her shoulders
and her hands.
I yearn to go back to bed,
but time changed here
in the very early morning.
It is an hour later
than it was
the same time
yesterday.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Extremely beautiful writing, Judy
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Thanks, Derrick..
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A lovely word picture.
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I really like your word picture. Almost like looking around from your observation point, through your eyes and ears, projecting me transferred into your world through your words. (all it may need is soft background music from the likes of Nikos Ignatiadis. Thanks, it is still dark here as I am sure it is there, but soon I too will go through a similar awakening, though I took off my watch long ago when I retired and daylight saving means nothing to me, I only pay attention to time to keep up with appointments. Meanwhile my clock is the sunrise, sunset~! But soon the Carolina Wren will start awaking, repeating her name over and over “Shirrr Leee, Shirr Leee, which she insisted drove her crazy at times with its call to her. But each and every one of the others will then chime in, yesterday it was a bunch of crows fighting. They so remind me of a dysfunctional family, and then I must start once again trying to get a reservation for a covid shot, that endless fight of dealing with a computer telling me “not yet”. So it is then, unfortunately, my Syncopation starts to turn into the terrible Schizophonic sounds of the real human encroached world. But I do have an outlet, like you, I will take a walk with Tami down to the creek where the sound of water falling over the waterfall will drown out those other world sounds for a short while, such as the hounds bellowing, coming from a house across the valley, where the owner keeps them pended up 24 hours a day, or of a gun shot way off in the distance of another jerk shooting at a young buck fooled into staying too long at a feeder he put up, after daybreak~!
Maybe my thoughts are on the soft music of Karen Taylor Good singing “Real Men Cry”, but as the sun comes up the louder music of Glenn Miller playing “In The Mood”, reminding me it is time to get going for another hectic day~!
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A vivid portrayal of your world, Sam. Lovely.
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A beautifully visual piece and so eloquently expressed, Judy. Thank you so much for joining in.
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Thank you so much for your generous commentary, Eugenia.
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My pleasure, Judy.
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