Stalking ghosts with horns and hooves

resolve into elderly elms and oaks.

A hundred hungry barking squirrels argue

with the dawn’s reluctant acorns

while damp mist sits cold and earthy

in my chilly nostrils.

I stretch wearily and release my stiff back

finally and gladly from the yew’s hard caress.

I can taste hot pancakes,

sharp bright blueberries

and thick sticky syrup,

all in the kitchen

an hour’s steady pace away,

and with purpose and peace,

walk into the day.