I love the morning, for when

the cardinal sings a sweet song

and sunlight peeks through the window

to warm the soul,

mimicking the coal that burns

slow as the fire quiets.

I love the afternoon, for the way

a basket of sweet cherries and peach,

ripens in the heat,

and sharp blades of grass bend to the

fields of neighing horses,

kicking up dust that smells of summer.

I love the evening, when

whiskey brings memories to the good man,

in notes of sugar maple and caramel,

as the syrupy sky sinks low,

hiding and seeking

behind the cradles of rolling hills.

I love the midnight, for how

fireflies dance by the camped truck,

lighting the way for lovers

drawn to the fire flickering between them,

steady as breath in the hush,

as stars glisten with the nectar of life.