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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

The Sense of Dawn

The Sense of Dawn

The night rains departed,

Leaving behind their welcome gift.

The golden scent of petrichor,

Delicious on the dawn breath.

Sodden earth delights,

Dew soaked, an anticipation.

The senses awoke in a morning dance.

The cold moisture of brushed grass,

The heavy air, laden with new day aromas.

The taste of sunlight, warm on the tongue,

The final song of the dawn chorus.

The sight of field-mists evaporating.

I stood still, a dawn rebirth.

Afraid to disturb nature's perfect balance.

Afraid to spill the silver dew,

Afraid to part the reluctant mists.

Afraid to move with the rising sun,

Afraid to lose this perfect moment.


Sunrise, the first glimpse of the new day, when every sense is heightened. The most blissful time of day.

Photo: Sunrise over the canal, Porter's Mill, near Worcester, UK

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