Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Morning Circles

Sunrise. Roosters calling. Coffee in hand.
I walk a labyrinth freshly mowed in the grass.
Bare feet in the dew, one foot in front of the other.
Steam rises from the mug.
Morning is not broken and I have no need to fix it.
In time I see the prints from where I've been.
The past leading out before me.
Feet covered in clippings,
I'll leave a trail of memories all over the house today.

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