morning

Quiet, slow, still. 
The steady hum of early morning. Rustling sounds, slow and sleepy, like lazy, bare-footed tip-toes across cold wooden floors. Every word a whisper, each syllable dragging on drone-like and listless. Faint, familiar taking form like the white-capped wave rolling over itself in rhythm with the earth's deep core. A thousand secrets hidden in undiscoverable places gently nudging, softly prodding. Asking only that I live and breathe and sing of beauty along the wild way.

I arise and chase after the golden-gloried dust particles infused with radiance, streaming through the air.

I say Amen.