Morning

The seat of life remembers it's first home, that place of the heart where authentic breakfast fare appeared like magic in the morning light, the aromatic smells gliding like a magic carpet made of the finest silk up the wooden staircase and round, round that old familiar corner to the room of long ago, where outside the bright pink rhododendron burst forth it's flashy blooming self, while robins commenced their spring symphony and I, a worshiper of all things living, was held tight in a ten year old body that trusted all life in the vision of springtime out that curtained window.