Sunrise on Mwiri

Soft cooing awakes the merry band from the deep,
pre-dawn chill swirls around
not quite kept at bay by hastily cobbled shirts,
sleep lingers on in conscious breath as we wander on.

Along red paths of loosed dust,
past huts of packed dirt,
we greet on the way those hoe handed
women whose hearts will not be cowed this day,
their greeting floats lyrically on the mist.

Up higher into moist forest and
the chatter of monkey play,
high up high their voices carry
beyond the twists and turns of mwiri hill.

Racing blood into cold extremity finds rests
atop old ancient mound. We find our spots for
Sun's arrival from wherever she's been.

We see distant lake Victoria glistening like shook foil
as fishermen in narrow barges return burdened,
with fresh scaly riches.

And quielty then Sun breaks over our earth,
and silence falls like softest snowflake,
A smooth flaming sphere held in the Almighty's hand
bringing hope of tears dried and better days to come.

We sit together
on Mwiri hill
for moments or hours.