I wonder, how was this morning for you?
Can you remember the sights and the sounds?
It is in the moments we see the truth
a thought, while I stand upon frozen ground.
At 8, I watched the steam rise from my tea
At 9, I felt the breathe of Sunday morn
I walked, watching Winter begin its weave
the flowers stripped bare, revealing their thorns.
But, the flicker of hope remains in the sky
as the summer yellow turns to bright white
there is still beauty in things as they die
and nothing more beautiful then this sight.
So, the next time you step into Sunday
be grateful for the moment that makes May.