Friday, July 25, 2014

Morning

The morning wakes slowly, with small dark sounds that fill and swell with the promise of a new day. It starts off shyly. A few car doors. A gentle good morning whispered between neighbors. The call of birds, rallying the world with their chirpful cries. Morning is what you make of it. Me? I imagine that the trees are the conductors, guiding the morning toward an evening crescendo.

4 comments:

  1. Gummed up eyes filter my world as my hesitant feet stumble out of bed. The weather's blessedly cooler and I greet our mewling adolescent felines as they wind about me, urging me downstairs, keen to be fed. Another day in the life of a British male begins.

    Good day, folks!

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