Roused by the Sounds of Morning

The apartment I share is situated by a long road that bends to the left and to the right. At the dawn of summer days, sunlight filters through the window and wakes me. On crisp September mornings, I hear the rustle of leaves carried by the wind.

At night, it appears as though the cars zooming back and forth are rushing to or returning from another day of toil. Another day of making things come together for complete strangers.

When I get out of bed early enough, I brew a cuppa tea and see schoolchildren as they chatter and queue up. The jolly little fellows await the bus eagerly.

Socks pulled up to knees, mug warming palms, I breathe… slowly. A new day is unfolding, life yet again presents me another chance to do better. The morning beckons, the world is spinning. It has from the moment I opened my eyes.

And on nights when the clouds cry, I watch their tears empty into the drain, thankful that their pain has blessed the earth with an unmistakable scent.

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