Open arms

Morning has opened her arms. The forest light comes gently, tenderly into my eyes. I am the lover in the bed. I am the fisher of men. It is time to rise.

The trill of the mama bird, the building of the nest. I listen and I know her heart.

I am the wandering lost since she left me. She lays in the forest under a grave marker of ash cloth and copper words. Beloved

A small and rowdy pup bites my toes as I walk to the kitchen for sustenance. He will never know my heart is broken. I squat down and he studies me with my finger in his mouth, gnawing.

The light calls me. The day surrounds me. I will chose thankful. I will chose Open

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