The Morning Quiet
Thank you God for such a quite morning with rain in my ears but the sun upon my eyes. Monday’s are mostly abhorred at just the thought and early morning rises with kicks and screams at the bell but the scent, is so fresh today.. The sun, is so bright and clear like hanging crystals strung along stained glass and the air, is so sweet. Oh, and the grasses, green and grand stand full of spice and vigor.
Thank God for such quiet mornings, so still. A moment to breath deep, to find oneness inside the one-ness. To witness the awe and wonder of pure unaltered living, breathing life. Life, living all around you. Have you ever steeped so intently in silence that you could hear, that you could be heard..?
I can hear my footsteps pound pavement and how black birds swallow worms. I can hear the rustles of wild in bushes behind houses and my breath-breathing, breathing-breath inside my belly, my chest, inside my face. I’m alive while all the cars sleep, slipped into their spaces while dandelions give hope outside ornamental doors and white wishes sail down from the heavens.
God... How do wishes fall from heaven and hope stay so grounded..? It’s a mystery within the quiet that only the birds seem to chat about, those boisterous little fellow bellows! I can hear them and I learned that quiet is not the absence of sound at all. No, its simply the balance of all our senses, all at once and all at peace. Finally, some peace...
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 5/6/19
Thank you God for such a quite morning with rain in my ears but the sun upon my eyes. Monday’s are mostly abhorred at just the thought and early morning rises with kicks and screams at the bell but the scent, is so fresh today.. The sun, is so bright and clear like hanging crystals strung along stained glass and the air, is so sweet. Oh, and the grasses, green and grand stand full of spice and vigor.
Thank God for such quiet mornings, so still. A moment to breath deep, to find oneness inside the one-ness. To witness the awe and wonder of pure unaltered living, breathing life. Life, living all around you. Have you ever steeped so intently in silence that you could hear, that you could be heard..?
I can hear my footsteps pound pavement and how black birds swallow worms. I can hear the rustles of wild in bushes behind houses and my breath-breathing, breathing-breath inside my belly, my chest, inside my face. I’m alive while all the cars sleep, slipped into their spaces while dandelions give hope outside ornamental doors and white wishes sail down from the heavens.
God... How do wishes fall from heaven and hope stay so grounded..? It’s a mystery within the quiet that only the birds seem to chat about, those boisterous little fellow bellows! I can hear them and I learned that quiet is not the absence of sound at all. No, its simply the balance of all our senses, all at once and all at peace. Finally, some peace...
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 5/6/19
