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Monday, December 12, 2011


Driving down the winding blue highway
from Beaumont to Hemet,
looking out at the San Jacinto valley,
the westernmost mountains to the left,
the car-filled plain to the right,
not another soul on his road,
he marveled at the complex dawn,
so many layers, varied tones, even textures,
black becoming purple begetting rose
before the sun took its first glimpse of the ocean.

Sunset gets all the press, he thought,
probably, like the early Beatles,
due to advance agents.
Oh, sunset has its own virtues,
if one likes that garish kind of thing,
beach goers gathering in hoards,
oohing and ahing,
pretending to see a green flash,
quickly dispersing to watered down happy hours.

Dawn gets little notice, few raves,
a shame, really, but also a saving grace.
It might not be the same
If the press got a sniff of it,
people setting alarms, gathering in roadside view areas,
flipping down their shades at the first sign of yellow,
probably adding some kind of Bloody Mary rite to it.
No, let the dawn stay hidden,
a gift for the early risers ,
those who pull over and write an ode to its beauty..