My Pollyanna Life

Today's Sunday Writing prompt was two-fold, awakening the senses and having a conversation with the morning. Here are two of my responses.

In Conversation

Good morning day,

drifting in snowflakes,

your cold gray face freckled with birds,

the sunrays of your smile absent,

beaming elsewhere.

Good morning day,

lightly slipping in beneath the curtains,

rousing me slowly, pulling me from dreams,

drawing me to the window

to watch the snow float down.

I recognize yesterday and tomorrow

in the steadfastness of the trees,

see the past heaped in white drifts on the ground,

feel the future on the wind,

taste the present in a sip of scalding tea,

hear the passing of the hour

in the tick of the clock,

see the light swell and illuminate every corner,

smell the time of day cooking on the stove,

an egg singing praises to the morning.

New Day

Wake up eyes.

See the light come creeping in

making friends with the shadows.

Watch the little bird with the red hood

eating the peanut butter suet

and the arms of the trees spreading themselves

across the gray horizon.

Wake up ears.

Hear the clock ticking off the minutes

and the rooster announcing its own presence.

Listen to the silence that lies beneath all sound

and the sounds that dip into the silence.

Wake up nose.

Revel in the scents of toast

and of bacon frying crisp in the pan.

Smell the gunmetal of new snow that drifts

down like feathers in the cold.

Wake up mouth.

Sing praises to the new day,

mimic the chickadee with a whistle,

bless the tea kettle and the breakfast plate.

Wake up fingers and toes.

Feel the silkiness of the sheets,

the chill of the floor and the warmth of fuzzy slippers.

Indulge in the softness of water.

Smooth the unruly hair and wipe the grit of sleep

from the eyes.

Wake up self.

Merge into the morning—

watch the birds,

listen to the kettle,

taste an orange,

smell an egg frying.

Touch the day with gentle fingers.

Step softly.