Wish You Were Here

Looking across to the windmill it stands like a solemn sentinel in the pastel light, a relic of patience in a world hurrying by The water mirrors the dawn, doubling the expanse of soft pinks and blues, as if the earth couldn’t contain such serenity in one dimension.

Mist hangs low , hesitant to leave its post, whispering secrets to the sleeping grass It’s a scene so perfect it hurts, like beauty meant to be fleeting, reminding you to hold it lightly

I watch and wonder: who keeps such mornings safe, untouched, for the few who rise early enough to see them?