Poem: Morning

Morning

Morning.
When all is quiet and the broad orange sky
reminds you of the vastness
of God's palette.

Morning,
when the only voices are your own,
the mewing critic of history,
finally fades like darkness at the dawn.

Morning,
when the vapors of fear are burnt away
like a fog on the moors,
revealing the colors of life,
awaiting.

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A while back, I commented on the incredible sunrises we have been having here in Botetourt county recently. This picture is of yet another one. You may click on it for a larger version.

Tom