Morning is warm.
++++++It is quiet.

It is the comfort of rest and embrace,
the prospect of beginnings,
and relief behind the lilac bush.

Morning is crisp.
++++++It is still.

It is the welcoming of sun
and light into fog and darkness,
spilling through valleys, warming the fox’s den.

Morning is mine.
+++++It is virgin.

It is the freedom to be,
to have choice and time before being
tangled in [fowl-driven] misdirection.

Morning is vibrant.
++++++++It is full.

It is as a tree can hewn to home,
a seed sprouted to radish,
or a stone laid to hearth.

A morning is possibility.

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