There is something magical about life when we can exist in between the morning and the the night. It is that time when the stars still faintly shine and daylight can be seen on the rim of the mountains.

I couldn’t sleep so out I went into the back yard to watch the day come. The wind was blowing through the trees and moving things around on the desert floor. I climbed up on the bench around the fireplace to have a better look. So renewing. Just listening with this and that running the course through my mind. And why I thought of this poem I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it reminded me of this time of day… who knows.

It was from a time in the distant past. A certain young man had taken a liking to me and had sent me a book of poetry. In the front he inscribed a poem which he had written himself. It was called “Reflections.”

In that time when mist and light
Are mingled in a foggy dew,
And when the chill of night’s retreat
Sends shivers through and through;
When day break’s warmth is but a sound,
A dove’s soft distant coo,
I’ll close my eyes and clear my head
And think of only you!

(One verse, I was thinking, “This is pretty good!”)

And when the sun is at its peak
And heat abounds the air,
When grass and trees are only moved
By stirring wildlife there,
When cool relief is but a dream,
That toils and heartaches share
Your voice will whisper through the leaves
To turn my dampened hair.

(Yeah… heady stuff and I was buying it until the last verse.)

And when the sun dies in the West
And each star lights its post,
When moon light floods the shadowed vales
To reign nocturnal host,

(Okay….. still pretty good… but here it comes!”

I’ll ponder you then, so far from me,
And raise a quiet toast
To all that you are, my dear Carolyn
For you’re what I miss the most!

Now call me skeptical, but can’t you see just any girl’s name fitting into that second to the last line? Try your own name… I mean it works!

So I did that very thing. And I tried a plethora of names. “My dear Barbara, “My dear Valette,” “My dear Janna,”… It works.
I grinned inside myself and thought, “This guy’s what we use to call “a player,’ and I’m the name in verse three, line seven for today. Just one of the girls.” And I laughed.

Yet, it is a beautiful poem and better to be one of the girls than forgotten, right? Ya gotta give the guy credit where it’s due! And with that, it’s back to work on a Saturday morning.

May you have a beautiful and productive day… and feel free to memorize this little poem and add any name that suits your fancy. Who knows how good it could turn out!

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple

p.s. The author of the poem? William Abbott Temple… So I guess at some point, I bought the gist of this thing, didn’t I!