Good Morning, Macon

We pitch our tents in the backyard.
It's not wilderness, but it is outside.
Under the stars.

The air is cold and crisp,
despite a warm January Spring day.
We slip and snuggle into our sleeping bags.
Escaping the chilling breeze.

My eyes are too heavy to gaze at the stars for long.
Before I know it there is a faint glow beyond the trees.
Morning is coming.
The symphony of sunrise is near.