Early On a Sunday Morning

It's been a long and impossibly heavy week for me, but I've been doing small things to help sustain my spirit.

The mornings have become my favorite part of the day.  All is quiet and serene.  I get to wander slowly into wakefulness.

Last Monday, as I've been doing at least 4 or 5 times a week lately, I went out for my morning walk.

I brought along my camera and found beauty in the seemingly mundane.

Like this .  .  .

A wagon that seems to have drained the blue from the sky .  .  .

Another wagon, albeit a pint-sized one .  .  .

A warning to tread carefully and prepare to stop.  I wish I could have seen more of these signs lately .  .  .

A lone bottle floating on a sea of grass .  .  .

The tangled web we weave .  .  .

A crouching tiger, hidden hydrant .  .  .

Then, of course, she rises as houses curl under the trees to preserve a few final moments of slumber .  .  .

Every morning these days, I get myself ready and composed for the day ahead.  I feel much like a warrior preparing for battle, except with a sense of calm and a bit more courage.

The mornings are mine.  I claim them.  My spirit grows stronger with each awakening.

The sunlight pours through my window, embracing me.

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[Air Jordan]

The worst kind of love is the one when you want someone but you know you can’t have them. Best wishes for you.