Each Day’s First Gift

Now I know why sometimes I wait. Before the morning, in the dark. Watching, while the world is still unformed. Instead of being warm, dreaming, nested in nights’ womb. It is before the sun, before there is light. Before the birds’ sweet song, before life moves. I sit, I watch, I wait. Time seems suspended, hovering in mid-air, trying to decide what to do. I wait. Then the light, pale blue. Each day’s first gift. I sense hope, excitement, the grandeur, the majesty to come. That there is a next, that tomorrow is now today, that another genesis begins, that once again there is a new start. So, each day I wait.