Morning

It's a tricky place, the morning of each race, steady and cold in its haste. The working career seeking years were so full of hurried rushing fears barely found time amidst the shouts and cheers. These latter years are so welcomed with hurry and worry making entry seldom, longer, slower, methodical escaping that bedlam, The mornings arrive with greeted anticipation and aches and pains of age lessen the hesitation to rise to sun, sky and clouds with focused meditation. A cup of coffee, a piece of toast, a chair positioned at my command post, while in shadows walks reflections of your ghost. I am pleased to take in the morning masterpiece from time once constrained, now freed at peace and in this solitude of aged years, I am released.