in season.


Sometimes you forget to look for the sunrise. You are tired and weary and sleep calls stronger. You put your hand to the plow and you crash with rest heavy on you at the end of the day.

Sometimes you shuffle out to watch it rise over water and grass when the sky is still the ambient blue of pre-dawn. You wait there for hours, it seems, as each brilliant ray pushes its arm over the shadowed green silhouette of a horizon stretched out for days.

Your heart feels wind-borne as dark corners come to light. You ¬†notice. Everything. Waiting there with hope on every bird’s wing, you don’t even care about understanding it all. You just want to watch it.

There is a time for all of this; a good and appointed time where nothing is wasted.

For putting your head down and barreling through. For just getting to the next day.

For lifting your head to see the hope of the sun just waking up. For hopeful anticipation. For dreaming.



2 thoughts on “in season.

  1. This is a lovely piece. And you’re right. Sometimes I notice and feel alive. And sometimes I rest all of my senses except the ones screaming for rest. And they are both good.

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