Jagged, snow-tipped outlines
Neighbor the well-worn hills of Manali..
Old and new are here in this place.
Sing, sing, sing.
Early to rise, a flocking chorus of birds
One, two, then six.
Songs echoing off the concrete walls of this third-story porch.
Early to rise, their story lines
Meet the new light of the morning.
The cracking of open doors and
Clanging of window panes from nearby homes..
Families beginning the day's routine.
Clip-clop, as the workhorse is drawn from its slumber.
Early to rise, a young boy
Brings the water pail to the front garden,
Bringing life to what will grow in the Indian sun.
Soon the small girls will stoop over and,
clasping their tiny hands in another's,
begin to form sounds of wonder and awe
as they choose which color will best fit the day.
Early to rise, the voices of tenants
Are slowly blending into the melodies
Already begun by nature's trumpeteering vagabonds -
Those who have already sounded
The morning's first notes of rejoice and bewilderment.
Not long now until the sleepy eyes of children will wake to this day,
Fresh and anew with places for learning and growing..
And we will all sit together with
Heads bowed, giving thanks for the
Song of morning.