Stirring

Feathery leaves
patterned against the sky.
A new day is dawning.

The babe in my lap
squirms, protesting,
But You are here.


Can she see you?
Are you a familiar face?

I seem to be full of questions
this morning.
Woken too early
and not yet fed.

The wind rises,
ruffling the leaves,
as my baby also
ruffles me


and I struggle to grasp
the peace and tranquility
of the early morn
as the busyness of a young family
stirs.