Blue Is The Color of This Morning's Sky

Layering bird song over the cold morning air,

the sky turns blue.

Pinecones hang heavy from the uppermost branches.

I have seen this before.

This, and the color of winter’s grass.

Last night a half moon hung in the sky.

I braid my child’s hair.

Rejoice in how the light is changing,

as I attend to disparation,

that which is beyond seeing.

Call it a miracle if you’d like.

You are contained within it.

Limitless.

The very stuff of creation.

Now put it together.

You have what is necessary.

You have more than that.

Exuberance.

Two squirrels chase each other across fences and branches yet to bud.

Blue is the color of this morning’s sky.

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