I sit in darkness,
blanket-wrapped against damp chill.
Squawking gulls pierce my quiet,
spar over fish carcass washed ashore.
Dawn will present herself shortly,
streak sky angry crimson-orange
or smudge it gently in soft puffs of pastel pink.
How will she start my day?

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and ask writers to include the word “present” or a form of the word, in the body of their quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title.

Photo taken at dawn in Cape Cod’s Provincetown some years ago. We treasure our annual two-week visit to Ptown. I often wrap up in a blanket on the deck, in that chilly dark time before the sun rises, hold a coffee cup in my hands to stay warm, and watch the day dawn over the ocean.