It's the kind of morning my father would relish. He'd quietly observe the cornflower blue sky, the wisps of clouds of pink and white, the birds singing and busily calling, visible in the bare skeletal branches of the trees. He'd breathe it in and breathe it out, enjoying the land and the sounds.
It's the kind of morning I find inspiring. When I walked Cheyenne, some part of me delighted in being part of the dawn, of the beginnings of the day. I cannot see the breeze, or the fragrance of the young blooming flowers. I cannot see the relentless determination of nature to change, but I can see the changes. Slight and subtle, tiny blooms bursting through, color appearing where just yesterday there was none.
It's the kind of morning in which I half recall and half imagine walking out onto the porch, two cups of coffee in hand, one for my father and one for me. He takes the cup I hand him, says Good morning Cat, and we stand beside each other, silently enjoying the miracle that never grows old.
2 comments:
Spring in Texas is truly breathtaking. One day you have bleak February, the next...LIFE bursting out everywhere! I especially remember the mockingbirds singing outside my bedroom window when they were nesting. Sometimes all night. So please take some photos to share with a Texas born woman living in the high desert. Carmon
i feel that way about sunsets.
Post a Comment