Oatmeal In The Mountains Poem by Jim Yerman

It was 45 degrees in the mountains this morning…I did a temperature check
but I wouldn't let that stop me from having my breakfast on the deck.

For a chance to eat outdoors….a little cold weather I wouldn't let my resolve dent
so I bundled up…grabbed my piping hot bowl of oatmeal and out the door I went.

And there I sat watching and listening as the morning came alive…for it didn't take too long…
before the birds began to gather and sing their morning songs.

Soon the leaves began to softly sway…back and forth among the trees…
laughing at a joke, perhaps, whispered by the breeze.

With the blue sky of the morning acting as it's canvas…it's backdrop…
the sun began it leisurely journey across the mountain tops.

It was such a wonderful feeling…so many sights and sounds to savor…to behold…
That it didn't matter at all to me…my oatmeal was getting cold.

In fact in the cold of the mountain morning…I felt I was the lucky one…
because even cold oatmeal tastes better
when you share it with the birds,
the breeze…
the sun.