With a mug of hot
coffee in hand, I ventured into my garden, to wait for the Morning Glories and
Poppies to open - and the soggy grass waited for the morning sun to dry its
tender new growth; morning, a time of awakening
I found an old dusty
chair, dormant like everything else during winter months, and parked myself
with patient resolve to wait for the sun; waiting, a time for remembering.
A breeze picked up, causing
branches to sway in the trees. They hung
low in expectation of the sun to show renewing warmth. New buds appear to steel against an invisible
force, with a tremor, a shiver from the night’s cool rain.
The sun’s rays began
to break through the mist, a warm and comforting feeling for these old bones of
mine, cares of yesterday slipped away, attempting to perish within rivulets of winter’s
deep shadow.
My eyes lifted
beyond, to the hills, taking in brilliant colors of Spring. A sweet scent of
blossoms came to greet me, drifting down on currents of newly warmed air – and with
it came the voice of a song bird, bursting with jubilation, welcoming the
season, a pleasantry beyond joy.
Remembering becomes real,
bringing harmony and peace
A blend of glory in every way,
wishing to never cease
No matter where I turn, no
matter where I roam
To this, I call home
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