Morning disheveled

 

 

 

I want to live a life with passion.
Desperately.

To wake up and embrace.
Having had trouble sleeping for the thrill of it all.
For the chasing of beauty.
Another new day.

To breathe in the morning and rejoice in the new.
All quiet and tip-toeing out of the dark.
Shimmering awake with the summer sun.

Filling the senses.

And I breathe it all in.
Grateful.  And calmed.

Morning routine.  Summer disheveled.
Padding out to the garden.
Coffee in hand.  
The cacophony of birdsong.  Cicadas. 
Cone flowers starting to bend.
Their long limbs heavy.

All part of the mystery.  The beauty.
Of summer.  Soon turning to fall.

And what do I do?
I am asked all the time.

With the passion.  In the desperate.

Well.

Not destined to dazzle.
Not how I am made.

Made to love simple.
The wild and the beautiful. This ordinary.
Hot tea and good books and conversation.
Morning routine and authentic lives.
Serendipity showing up.
Color and texture and pattern.
Nature spilling gorgeous all over our lives.

And snapping the picture.
To remember.  Reinforce.

Glorious extravagant creation.
What I see.
In the morning sweet.

The promise.

Of more to come.

This beauty written.
All over our lives.

And I breathe it all in.
Grateful.  And calmed.

Because.  It softens our sadness.
Bringing joy to our day.
Connecting the dots with grace.
Of lives living frazzled.  Tempestuous.
And us.  Unsure and wanting.

But wait.  There is more.
Because beauty.

Just a signature.
For Grace. 

Amazing Grace.

And then.  Falling like rain.

And I laugh.
When my heart may be almost bursting.
For the sheer joy. 

Of chasing beauty.

Desperately.  Passionately.

In the sweet summer morning.
Disheveled.

And in the evening rain.