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Yankee Morning

Ice coats the window panes in the early morning light.
It glimmers gold as I watch, bringing warmth to the white
Of the blanket of snow at the cusp of dawn -
The sight makes me smile as I stifle a yawn.
Slippered feet on the stairs to the kitchen below,
Already alive with voices and scents I’ve come to know
As home in my heart and in memory missed:
Coffee and laughter – Oh, I needed this.

The neighbors are over, though the sun’s barely up -
One gives me a wink over his coffee cup.
I take in the scene – What a colorful one it is.
Mom in pink robe and slippers, hair slightly amiss;
Dad in green thermals – too early for pants –
With gray beard bobbing as his blue eyes dance
With the humor of a tale many times told -
One that despite retelling never grows old.
A line of snowy boots leaving puddles at the door,
Another neighbor knocking – Always room for one more.
Coffee passed around – It’s the lifeblood here,
Served like legal tender, buying morning cheer.
I take my perch on the counter, the only seat to be found,
As I revel in the moment – All Yankee in sight and sound.

A thought comes to me then, as I sit and sip my brew.
The cold would never be mentioned if more people knew
Of the warmth in Morning Meetings, with friends and family near,
After-all it’s what I think of first, whenever I think of here.
Yankees might be curt when you see them on the street,
But when near hearth and home, they’re the friendliest you’ll meet.
The reason for that is simple: when it’s winter eight months straight,
We’d rather chat in the heat at home, than in the cold out at the gate.
My family and my neighbors to that are no exception,
As we argue politics, the war, and the recession.
And as the sky brightens in the distance, pink and gold and red,
I’d rather be enjoying a Yankee morning, than sleeping in instead.

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