Proud of my early rising; the first body in the house to stir.
The morning sunshine is my daily splash of cold water—invigorating and awaking body, soul and mind for the day.
So I venture out for my walk.
My path, usually tread by running feet of mine, is an ugly beat up gravel road beside a ditch holding garbage treasures.
But in the early day, it’s a glorious auditorium facing the stage of the sunrise.
My morning tradition of oil-pulling restricts my lips from uttering a word or singing a note, though my head is filled with thoughts and my heart with a song.
Perhaps silence is the best symphony.
Halfway down my road I perch beneath a tree, the only one of its kind.
Leaning on a branch, I gaze into the growing daylight.
I think of a somebody… Maybe two. I think of my Jesus. What do each of these mean to me? How have I shown them so?
This poetic wording of sorts begins forming in my head. I reach for that electric device we entrust to capture our lives, finding it to be still at home asleep…
Feelings of gratitude and disappointment wash over. Will my memory do its job and cling to these words in my head for me? It’s been as a slacking, lazy employee lately and I’m afraid I’ve been the overbearing, impatient employer…
Unwilling to teach and repair, willing to implode.
I look forward. Shall my walk finish the running route?
I look back. Dreaming has a time limit. It’s time to return and face my day.
Loveliness captures my eyes so I stop to take it for myself. The golden petaled stems stick to my fingers like sap, as if to punish me for breaking them from their root of life.
I move on only to swoop low for some lavender. Pick and sniff, only to be greeted by a pungent odor. Lavender ’twas not. Punished yet again.
I suppose some forms of beauty were not meant to be mobile.
Home I continued… Releasing my mouth to speak and choosing silence as the better option. Perhaps such a choice would reserve my words and thoughts for paper and pen such as this goes.
Thus begins another day of living with the potential of being worthy of ink at the end.