The Morning

There is something magical…and wild about mornings after a mist.  Dew hangs on every leaf, every blade of grass.  The water hangs in glowing diamonds from the corral and drips peacefully from the barn.  The rising sun casts its silver over the world, turning it into a glittering gem.  As the trees rustle their leaves and welcome the morning, a mystical, unheard music sweeps over life.  The water in the water trough is still and clear.  Silver light shines off of the back of the waking horse.  Tree trunks glisten with the life water…the life giver.  A lark calls with all its heart in a tree, voice swelling as the sun rises.  The subtle croaking of a bullfrog drifts over the wind, reminding the waking world of the night that has passed away.  A hen begins to cluck and a sheep gets to her feet and puffs into the air.

You tread softly, afraid to break the spell of calm.  Your feet skim the dirt swiftly.  You round the barn and come face to face with beauty.  The sky is reflected in every drop, every surface.  Clouds begin to scud across the sky in groups.  They are white and fluffy, relieved after the mist, able to fly again.  As you turn, a snort carries into the air.  The horse bows his head to you, requesting his grain.

Silver shines on his sides and face.  It glimmers with each movement…he is one with the earth.  You know that if you try to catch him now, he will simply disappear like the morning mist.  A dream like the early hours.

Far away, a car starts and drives away.  You sigh and feel free to breathe again.  You want it to come back, but you know it won’t.  The magic of the morning has faded, and you will have to wait until tomorrow to see it again.

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