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Wake-Up Mornings


The strong tincture of the sun rolling out of bed, the bird song breaking to the east, coffee growling on the stove, I, eager to answer.

The world saturated in green, cars moving to the sound of adventure, the taste of dereliction in the air, the breath of uncommon good.

Lake smells, Campfire smells, the invitational pull of the garden offering its rich scent of soil and promise.

Summer dwells on the horizon of each new and uncertain day. It lingers as it waits for us to embrace its beauty.

It shares its magic with the distressed, the arrogant, the rich and poor, the embittered and hollow, the distracted,

with those who watch and who choose wonder.

Days glide by but mornings introduce themselves, shake our hand, and ask us to recall their name at day’s close-out.

The crow’s sharp cawing, the eager moon waiting to extend its light to far-flung places, the staccato notes of the rain on the roof,

fresh sunlight,

are but small talk seeking a deeper friendship.

Mystery’s invitation to the Dance.


From:The Poetry of Life: Who's Watching Who? 50 original poems / John Bragstad

Available Soon / end of May, 2019

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