REALITY: Morning Struggle

Saw it myself, the morning sun peeking through a slash torn in the clouds above the horizon.  Angry orange ball frustrated by grey walls too thick to blaze through easily.  Worn by weary days of covering the earth, the shroud is torn in places, holes revealing bright blue skin of sky.  And every now and then, he smiles brightly through the undarned patches.

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3 Responses to REALITY: Morning Struggle

  1. Mark says:

    Harsh Sun?

    Saw it myself yesterday at evening’s end, sinking gracefully through cumulous cloud chasers in honorable escort, a kindly kiss goodbye.

    Perhaps she slept restlessly behind India, turbid dreams to awake New York with a ball of angry orange, frustrated by shallow overcast, mere morning maidens. The perpetual morning girl tired of it all.

    Yet hardly worn by weary days were the ever-gathering mists and crumpled cotton skylarks, nestling between heaven and earth. The tranquil blanket parted to allow sun her new day, then gathered to share memories of night in listless drift, soft fabric cloaking earth, East to West.

  2. susan says:

    Ah, so it is where the night is spent that determines the mood of day.

    Cripes, you make me want to write so much better than I do, to learn to take it farther, as you have.

    For inspiration and a desire to stretch, I thank you.

  3. Mark says:

    Careful stretching. You’ll knock off that glass.

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