Slow Grown Sunrise

Some mornings I slow down. If you had seen me this morning, you might reasonably conclude I could not possibly further reduce my productive pace, a social disgrace, slogging through my domestic place. Days, or at least my light within each day, grow shorter, while everything remains to be done to care for future generations of children and puppies and cubs and kittens and kids and calves. Yet dawn silently screeches toward timelessness as I realize I was produced in a moment of ecstasy, but also nine-months prepared to thrive on Earth, while my unique, yet resonantly symbiotic, DNA is born of prehistoric generations, back when time and light's productive moments were measured in full and empty, ecstatic and aptic, rising toward another regenerative morning, and setting toward yet another sacred decomposing night. It is this slow memory of near timelessness that revolves through my bones and flesh and is cooperatively shared not just with my own Win-matriarchal and Win-patriarchal lines, but also our globally shared regeneration through timeless ecstatic moments of symbiotic great transitions, commencing nine months for each preparation to greet our brothers and sisters, cousins and families extending back through competing histories and cooperative matriarchal nutrition and health mentoring, fire and wind and water and safety education, revolving through slow-growth wisdom of timeless sunrise, oceans of DNA and Elder RNA, regenerative, synchronic places and times, landscapes and heathy creolizing climates. I have bloomed and wilted where I have been planted, and where I have chosen to plant myself, and our future greeting past revolving sacred memories, here with now.