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Saturday, January 9, 2021

Morning Glory

Morning comes slowly.

With a glancing turn of the earth

light, through cloudy skies, spills 

liquid gold onto the horizon

waking the world to blue or gray 

white powder puffs or streaking, stretching clouds ~ 

horsetails my father told me.


When morning comes

the artist paints with sun-rays, 

textures with shadow.


Morning comes slowly ~

cold, moist night air sprinkles

delicate silver white glitter

on trees and roof tops, 

rocks and fences, 

even the most fragile twig,

the tiniest pebble


Morning comes before 

my eyes are ready to open

but my senses feel the dawning,

twittering, sleepy birds sense the glow


When morning comes it is time.

Time for a stretch and a yawn

until day gently breaks the night 

to blossom on our up side world

while the down under world 

settles to sleep.


“In these times you have to be an optimist 

to open your eyes when you awake in the morning.”

~ Carl Sandburg

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