I write - XVIII

I open my eyes
To a sunny morning
And chirping birds.
I stretch my languid form,
Happily lazy, yawning.
It's a bright new day
Yesterday's gone.

I spring out of bed
Ready to live this day: today
I clear out my head
And make space

For the warm rays on my face
For the fragrance of blossoming flowers
For the newness
I see in every thing, every place.

Time, I remind myself, to wipe yesterday's slate clean.

I pick up a new pen.

And write.