I sit here in the early morning at my window, gazing out into the woodland, and I wonder: How does this new morning find a way to create a sunny sanctuary in the deepness of the inner woods, when the trees and undergrowth around the budding brightness still stand dark?
I watch the morning mist, rising thickly from the morning creek, and the morning sky begins to sip it up to clear the day; blue sky grows bluer and more crystalline.
I feel and inhale the serenity and beauty, and then my peace is suddenly and rudely shattered by a rescue helicopter roaring overhead, shaking me, my house, my windows and my peaceful relaxation; and warping all the beauty, peace and stillness into which my morning spirit has been sinking...
Reality assumes control, to remind me of the saving mission of this noise-producing, man-made medical machine, and I see it as the angel I know it really is; and not a harsh intrusion.
I salute it and send out a prayer; and I rise up to my feet and begin my day.
