Morning Opera

I have a confession to make. I love mornings! I have resisted this truth for years now because I’ve never been a morning person. I like to sleep! But this morning I finally admitted it to myself. I used to give my friend, Julie, a hard time for her morning perkiness (sorry Julie!). I wouldn’t say that I’m exactly perky in the morning, but there is a joy there for me in the silence before the onrushing of the day. It is a time when my heart and mind are in unison and my thoughts and feelings have a beautiful clarity (not all mornings of course). It is a time when I can hear the words clearly. It is a time when I can intentionally begin my day in conscious connection to all and to the One. It is a time when I can focus easily on gratitude and the multitude of blessings in my life. It is a time when I can see the world around me clearly and with great joy. I love those moments. I love moments of being witness to the incredible beauty of this world.

This morning for instance the field behind our house took my breath away. It wasn’t butterflies this time. This time it looked as though all the plant residents of the field were dressed for the opera! The tiny trees and tall grasses were all draped with shining spider webs. They were heavy with dew and hung from their necks and shoulders sparkling in the light of Grandfather Sun. Some were adorned with strings of jewels lit from within. Some wore instead glittering stoles draped from their shoulders. They were dressed lavishly. Each time I passed I swore I could hear their hushed voices in the moment of excitement before the curtain rises. Then came the voice of the rooster strong and clear and the singing began. Next thing you know I will be become an opera person too!

Joe Pye Weed

The past few months have been challenging in terms of finding time for writing. Joyfully, things have settled down some and I'm finding a new rhythm and time to write! It's amazing how much better I feel overall when I am allowing time for the words to flow. This morning I wrote the following poem. It felt wonderful to spend time with the words again...

Joe Pye Weed
by Lynda Allen

along her morning way
the slightest of flutters makes her raise her eyes
she pauses,
amazed that color could take form and fly.
a moment of grace.
yet the smile slips from her lips, like the dew from the leaves,
as her gaze follows the flight of pale yellow
to a field of mauve and green alive with wings.
her breath desserts her,
awe and wonder instead sustain her
as she takes in the miracle of beauty.
hundreds of wings of yellow and periwinkle,
black and cobalt
gently stir the air
as they sit two and three upon a flower
sipping and visiting
wings overlapping,
unaware of the splendor of their gathering.
breath eventually returns along with laughter,
joy overflowing in sound,
at the delight found along her morning way.