Music plays, slowly swelling in volume.
I open my eyes to a semi-dark room
And my aging body creaks into a new day.
Though I’m warm and the room is cold
And I’m sleepy and a day of labor waits,
I get a new beginning,
A new chance to do better,
Than the day I left when I closed my eyes last night.
I leave for work as the sun rises over the tree line,
A tree line bare in winter,
Dense in pale green, deep green and gold the three other seasons.
Through a strange quirk of geography and timing
I have to drive straight into the sun,
Half-blind and weaving and bobbing my head to find an angle to block the light.
(Interestingly, it will be the same on the drive home).
The light from the morning sun is
More light-like and light-full than at any other time.
On the way home the light will be warm and rich,
Gloriously pink and gold.
My work day proceeds
Full of demands,
And conflicting demands,
A tug of war of attention and focus.
Sometimes it seems petty,
I have means of support.
I have useful utility in this world.
I have a reason to get up every day.
I’ve been hurt many times in my life
(A long life by the measure of a mayfly, short by the measure of an oak, a blink to a mountain)
Physically, I’ve broken things.
Emotionally, I’ve been broken a bit too.
I’ve been knocked down time and again.
Each time I’ve gone down
I’ve gotten up.
Most times I’ve gotten up,
If not always stronger,
I’ve learned to persevere
I’ll keep running,
Enjoying my new beginnings
And my crystal sunlit mornings
And soft warm sunsets
And peaceful sleeps
I’ll get knocked down
One final time.
I won’t be able to get back up (in this body at least).
I’ll be thankful then too.
For the rest.