First light before the birds

First light, before the birds

get loud, I stretch.

A small groan, then

the first pop,

low, deep, a dry branch snap.

Then another, higher up,

a click, a catch, a release.

Third one, almost a sigh,

a slight shift. Then the fourth,

a final, satisfying crack.

It's not pain, not really.

More like old gears grinding,

then finding their fit again.

The day begins, reset,

a spine that's been rewinding.

For a moment, all the stiffness

of sleep, of being still,

lifts, and the blood begins to rush.

A body waking, just to fill

itself with morning's hush.