The Quiet Morning

As the day begins to awaken from dreaming itself anew, the silence all around starts to crinkle and spark—birds begin their bright early chirping, as the soft steady hum of the nighttime creatures fades into morning, and the great Eternal Song continues unfettered.

The hopes and promises of a new day are created, moment by single moment, while bright glowing bodies return to their sleeping figures, flying through the rooftops of the world. I hear Whitman echoing his forever “Yawp”, the brave militant with their trumpets blasting “Awake!”, and soft morning prayers that flutter past open windows, like a gentle breeze shaking the leaves of my mind.

Let all who can hear, speak as well in their time, and let those with loose tongues gain control of that flapping member so innocently playful on its own. Laughter, resolve, and good intentions for a fresh start once again—the majestic sun may yet show its face today, or play hide-and-seek through gentle clouds. The Great Song continues, changing yet unchanging, and may each contribute freely their part.

Be well as always

—M.R.S.

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