Morning Sun

The past few months as I was driving to work, I noticed one tree on the side of the road with its leaves shaking in the morning breeze. I rolled this poem around in my head for a few weeks:

The ageless cottonwood tree
captures the morning sun,

flips it from
leaf to leaf,

holds the glint for a
precious little while,

then releases it after its play.

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Go ahead. Everyone's watching.

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