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The colors spread thickly on the canvas. Frost covered the shaking tip of Kyle’s brush as he mixed the yellows and oranges against the blues of the sky.
Kyle used to say he hates mornings. He wished someone would ban them.
Until someone did—a blanket covered the sky, and there were no mornings anymore, only nights.
A foggy breath escaped Kyle’s cold lips as he put the finishing touches on the canvas. A picture of one last morning made him smile as his breathing went shallow and the world went dark.
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When Dave’s young wife died, he didn’t think he could go on. Then his baby daughter saved him with a simple gesture of innocent love. He’d told his brother he was mired in a thicket of grief, then retreated to his chair in the dark study, alone, to nurse another Scotch. Little Amelia entered uncertainly bringing him a frosted pop tart and a juice box of OJ.
“I heard you tell Uncle Pete you were stuck in morning all day long. So I brought you my favorite morning food. Breakfast!”
Like drops of water slowly falling into the water, the first rays of sunlight slowly wake, interrupting the silence of the crackling trees. One bird wakes up, then another, and another and another, and before long a flock of birds takes flight. The beauty of the world comes together in this heavenly melody that happens every morning.
I see the dawn of day, every day. But for someone, yesterday was the last morning, the last breath. Please visit me tomorrow, when your cells join the first rays of the sun
When Dave’s young wife died, he didn’t think he could go on. Then his baby daughter saved him with a simple gesture of innocent love. He’d told his brother he was mired in a thicket of grief, then retreated to his chair in the dark study, alone, to nurse another Scotch. Little Amelia entered uncertainly bringing him a frosted pop tart and a juice box of OJ.
“I heard you tell Uncle Pete you were stuck in morning all day long. So I brought you my favorite morning food. Breakfast!”
My 90 mg of a Morning
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Like drops of water slowly falling into the water, the first rays of sunlight slowly wake, interrupting the silence of the crackling trees. One bird wakes up, then another, and another and another, and before long a flock of birds takes flight. The beauty of the world comes together in this heavenly melody that happens every morning.
I see the dawn of day, every day. But for someone, yesterday was the last morning, the last breath. Please visit me tomorrow, when your cells join the first rays of the sun