The Picture

The coach says a coxswain should
“Paint a picture” for her crew.
He meant of the other boats in the race,
The competition.

There are no other boats out in this dawn practice,
No coach, and no crew but myself,
There is a picture, though
It’s not what the coach had in mind.

A flight of nine egrets,
Whiter then white.
The sky, a bowl of pale cerulean,
Shades to deep periwinkle in the west,
Faintly blushes to the north
Turns to butter in the east
Above the only clouds
A gray-blue layer over the mountains
Veiled behind them, the rising sun
Sends up angled ladders of light.

As well there’s no other crew.
Rowers attending to business
May not look around.
A dawn like this
Should not be wasted.