The Early Morning Wake-Up Call

The calculated drip of the early morning, we wake to the resurrection of the senses; of sound and smell and want. Time longs for me, stretches its arms beyond reach it begs like a full glass tipping over that I must catch before the skies break into singing. We wake with fresh thoughts whistling new inspiration against the smell of dawn. The sun itself is like a tingling on my skin, a warm kiss against my face, a whisper against my thoughts. “It is a new day” utters the sound of the wind. It is too gentle to be anything but the language of angels. They watch me sleep and leave their feathers for me to clean up this morning. I am the walking embodiment of message. There is a song required from my voice, an action needed from my fingertips. The blessing of a new start and the chance to do again is every day. The dry mouth of the morning waits patiently for the screaming sound of tea pots; to be caught up in the arms of cinnamon spice or to feel the race of blood awakening to the likes of the coffee bean. Embrace you the early morning wake-up call. It waits.