This is Morning.

This is morning. The quiet whisper of lawn mowers, the softness of dew on the grass. The chorus of birds in the distance, the click of keys from my hand. This is morning.

This is morning. The smell of coffee steaming, the filled terracotta pot. The raspberry almond slice, the Lord listening in. This is morning.

This is morning. The sun stretching over, the umbrella a created shade. The piles of books and journals, the linger of life in me. This is morning.