A soft place to land this morning, waking up in the grating of living. Bell chimes of pots and pans in the gush of washing away the grime of our marching.
It takes a fairy tale land of sweet tarts and rain heavy dreaming, to ease me into awakening.
Whispering glides of rake, like flowing silk skirt edges, catch petals and pods and pollen as I crouch down to greet the bees. Gossamer divine flights flutter in my drifting eye edges, and I feel carried too,
transported to celestial cities of white halcyon spirits .
Where a morning is a lifetime of beginnings. Eyelash brushes of petals and heart.