In the pre-dawn hours, I drink in the last glow of a tiring moon, to the flat sound of my footsteps on quiet streets. Those same streets today are lined by ancient oaks so strong, and a sky so heavy and low, it’s as if they’re holding it up until it can find its blue again.
Like my feet on the pavement, the careless clock marches on. The sun teases against the horizon and details emerge from beyond their nighttime shrouds.
It’s in these precious early minutes that I’m regularly reminded that a new day will always come, with the same stars fading out and the same colors morphing in. No matter my present phase. No matter the current state of my personal skies.
And just in seeing such beauty, I know that all will be well. In witnessing over and over again the recurrent curtain drop of night and return to morning, I know in every ocean of my being that any path and each turn will inevitably take me right where I need to be.
© 2021 Cristen Writes