Miramichi Morning (A writing to Dewey Gillespie from a very respected friend AJH)

 It’s five o’clock in the morning and the birds having surrendered daylight to darkness are quiet now, and the sun won’t rise for another thirty minutes, but I can already make out the silhouettes of poplars on the hillside.  It’s still dismal outside, but clearer every time I look.  The horizon brightens.  Two rabbits hop across the back lawn.  It’s brighter still.  Slowly, at the creator’s own pace, the morning is taking shape.  Here, where I sit, used to be a dense growth of trees. 

The sun is up now and so is my wife, with whom I share my life.  A hummingbird hovers over the feeder.  Traffic hums along the street.  The phone could ring at any minute.  The rest of the world is setting about it’s business.  I wish it all the best.  It doesn’t know, after all, what it’s missing here on a summer morning.  Happily the angler heads for his favorite salmon pool on the Northwest Miramichi River, New Brunswick, Canada.