Awakening Oxford by Rachael Watson

Ancient moss clings to a window ledge,

as vines arch across walls, etching an interwoven language

onto stone. Lines upon lines of hieroglyphs I can’t decipher.

The morning sighs a chilly whisper.

Silvered cobwebs sway.

A songbird sings a two beat tune.

I sit on a step beside a single wild weed

growing in a cobbled crevice. 

I stare at the darkened library

not yet awakened.

I place a paper cup of tea down beside me.

My pen hovers over blank paper,

as I wait for dawn in Oxford.