The abyss of the night can seem to last for an eternity. Restlessness abounds. Despair encroaches on the heart.
There is nothing to do but wait. Wait. Wait.
It isn’t a spotlight that demands attention when the dawn arrives. Only a gradual revelation. A slow birth. Its ascension, a moment by moment experience. One that cannot be rushed.
What was silent begins to awaken, heralding the hope that peaks beyond the horizon. Weeping ceases, and gives way to song.
Slowly, what was hidden and cloaked in darkness is revealed. Chills turn to warmth. Silhouettes take shape and dimension, and truth is uncovered. Dreams become possible again.
It is a daily dance of transformation. The old becoming new. The ending becoming a beginning. The slate wiped clean. A new canvas unveiled.
Mother Nature calls to me, “Create.” Coat your quill in the ink of possibility. The unwritten story of this day is ready to be told.
What will it say?