Awaken/Autumn

7:45

The bright numbers stare me down, full of the potential. Little potential, for 7:46.

I can’t know what to make of this morning. It is bright, so bright. It is shrinking my pupils to tiny pinholes with it’s fall sunlight. That tree, there, is ablaze with Fall. My mind is, too. As these leaves die, I feel like I’m getting some sort of fresh start. Watching these leaves fall, these trees shed, is like some great big annual metaphor for the shedding of whatever..was. The potential, like those numbers, of what could be. What will be, if I only let my eyes open to it.

Is it too bright out there to see a thing? What could be is an overwhelm. The mist, the mist..I miss the comfort of your underwhelm.

And then, just like that, with a hint of what this day and this life can be, the sleep is out of my eyes and out of every muscles. Each muscle thread twitches with everything to do and be done today. I must arise. Awaken, awaken, those fire-leaves call. Awaken. Feel the still air next to your bed. Move it with your just-rising grace. Listen to the strains of a tune, emanating from some distant inspired soul. Dance, dance to that stolen song and that borrowed moment, for what else will you do? You cannot remember yourself now, or you will lose to that jarring screech that is reality. Hold the grace of this bright, bright morning, firmly in your…

In your…

In your outstretched palm.