Ode to Morning
The fog lay a thick band onto the grass, a crowd of people standing shoulder to shoulder. I couldn’t see but over their heads. Red and blue bands arced across the sky. Red where the dawning sun hit the clouds and blue their shadowed underbelly. The golden yolk rose from the ground, trumpeting its rays and painting the world before it priceless. Horses stood still in their fields, cows still lazed on their bellies. Their eyes watched the passing cars whose lights cut through the haze, across the land, a diagonal slice of modernity through quaint pastoral.
No image could do it justice. Words yet fail. It stirs deep inside the aliveness of being. I forget how much I love to get up with the dawn. To feel the damp chill against the skin. To breathe in the morning promise. Alas, I am but a spectator in my glass and metal box, breathing heated air and dreaming.