image from dreamstime.com
I wake to soft light that slips in my room~ warm, calm air from a far, kind place. I sit with my tea and watch the steam rise, a thin, pale thread that swirls, then fades. The day sings its tune~ cars, birds, wind, leaves~ each sound a small sign that life moves on. I think of the paths I have walked so far, the ones I left, the ones that held. No grand truth comes. No loud call rings. Just this: the world is made of small, bright things~ a cup, a breeze, a soft, clear note that lifts the heart for one brief beat and lets it glow.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
