Wrestling with the covers to lie as a rustled leaf that has fallen to the ground in falls atmosphere. The outer contours of feeling begin to stiffen, core sour with warmth, and mind boggled as to why I feel everything in the appearance of thought in an untenable light.
A tactful thought creeps into my day before I step a foot out of bed.
“We must be our own before we can be another’s.” – Emerson
I collect myself by planning out the day through a series of motions and steps.
What shall I get from this day, give it in return, leave behind, accomplish, and fail; amongst a fortunes day? I begin thinking of all the people I love, the thought isn’t measured it’s only the thought of their love.
The memory of them I can tell a tail, hum a tune, and sing the love they have given me. Positive thoughts, that have pounce on nature’s good will, and harmony from people that have etched breathes of life into me.