Eight O'Clock Air

Nothing is silent anymore, it's been like this since half past four
Chickadees and cheeps, sounding lively and unsuppressed.
Overgrown grass and surly shrubs, tall trees, all leafy-green
Morning light is filtered through aging oak and oak anew.
Nine o'clock will soon be there, breathe in eight o'clock air
The sun is still circling, the birds are still chirping.
It's fresh; although it's cold, the feeling never gets old
Summer beginnings and all things living, the joy of morning fair.