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Morning is the time with soft washed light like champagne in thin glass. We thank the lord we live, like an Alzheimer patient constantly surprised by that same friend who comes and comes with flowers. Each morning sees us fresh and city streets like gardens look towards the sky and glassy buildings shine anticipating day time when the people fill the offices and shops and commerce leads to conversation shared with coffee cups. Dogs trot on leashes, cats observe from ledges and cars seem like friendly horses, part of a familiar scene. The distant thrum of aircraft joins the morning music, ground bass under timpani of heels and chat. And no one knows this morning is the last morning like that. |