A thin fog drifts across the meadow
below me. It moves like a knowing smoke and reminds me of the mist above my dearest
ocean perch. There is a peace that awaits these mornings, soft mornings, its
pure silence is loud behind my eyes and again reminds me that my next breath is
above all, fortunate. Whatever the tasks that wait, the duels unseen and the weather
prepared to corrupt my mood, in these soft mornings I know I am moored to an
idea that elevates my view and sings to me of now, not when, nor if- I dare not
try to collect all of these at once, lest I timid become in the traffic of
circumstance and forget the silent message before me; tomorrow waits, yesterday
can’t, only now can make them both!
