Monday, March 7, 2016

Morning

Here I came to the very edge,
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea,
and the moon swam back,
its rays all silvered,
and time and again the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
and everything is blue again like morning.

It is born // by Pablo Neruda


I can depict my soul in these whispers so clearly this morning.
As the cool young wind shook my PJs, while I was hanging fresh lavender scented clothes on the dryer out on the balcony, I closed my eyes to embrace its immense joy.

The empowering rhythm of beginnings.
Awaking.
To a fresh morning.
Monday.
To set this week free!

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