Too Early

It’s really too early to write. Brain and body say no. Just drink your tea and go back to bed. There’s nothing to be said.

I know that it’s quiet. Quiet is good. I can hear my thoughts. I can hear birds chirping and the fridge running. Across the street, a car door slams.  Someone’s going to work, or coming home.

Digital painting of birds.

Birds will Sing

More birds are stirring. Is this their morning colloquium? Do they take this time to plan the bird day? Maybe they just sing for the joy of it. They sing because they sing.

Today will be whatever it wants to be. I’ll do what I want to do. Me and the day, we’ll meet somewhere in the middle and it should work out just fine.

I’ll breathe and stretch and look gaze at birds. I’ll secretly ask them to sing with me.

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