In the cool of the morning air I sit on the back steps. The spectral filminess of mist still hovers over the ground. My body fights an internal battle between the chill of my back steps, still damp with dew, seeping through my robe and the warmth of my coffee cup in my hands.
I breathe deeply of the moist air, heavy with the scent of fresh farm smells that waft from the field adjacent to our back yard.
The horizon takes on a pinkish glow. Within minutes the sky resembles a glorious watercolor, run amok with shades of pink, blue, violet and yellow.
A movement catches my attention and I turn my eyes away from the heavens to see a small bluebird flit about the yard. Soon another joins in. A pair of cardinals begin an intricate dance of flirting as they circle, dip and dive.
My attention is drawn away from the disco of my backyard by the honking of geese. I look above and see a string of geese calling "Good morning."
I sigh and look down. The coffee is finished, but my cup overflows as I begin the day.
Morning Has Broken
Lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word.
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day.
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