Soft mornings

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!