Walking to work
Dark.
Check the sky. The sky is the first chance for the day to give a gift. India ink at the horizon. Rifle barrel gray above. Receive the sky.
Notice how the trees are today.
Sense wind against cheek and ear and throat. Smell of signs of the day. A few snow flakes against eyelids and nostrils and lips.
Birds? Birds today?
No birds. Even the crows are silent.
Notice sounds of shoes. Which sounds today? Good, clean crunch. Must be cold. Crunch under shoes is a gift. Ice time.
Listen to the light illuminating the parking lot. The crisp, clean light. Hum that pitch. Get the creaky vocal cords vibrating with the light.
Vibrating with the light.
Dark.
Check the sky. The sky is the first chance for the day to give a gift. India ink at the horizon. Rifle barrel gray above. Receive the sky.
Notice how the trees are today.
Sense wind against cheek and ear and throat. Smell of signs of the day. A few snow flakes against eyelids and nostrils and lips.
Birds? Birds today?
No birds. Even the crows are silent.
Notice sounds of shoes. Which sounds today? Good, clean crunch. Must be cold. Crunch under shoes is a gift. Ice time.
Listen to the light illuminating the parking lot. The crisp, clean light. Hum that pitch. Get the creaky vocal cords vibrating with the light.
Vibrating with the light.
1 Comments:
Ahhh, yes--I can relate to this. Mornings...when the world is still simple enough to discriminate between each sight, sound, smell, and tactile perception...and perhaps more so in winter. I agree, it is a gift.
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