The world emerges without a presentable beginning, just a sudden awakening.
Body found in familiar and novel contortions. The aches, sores, and parts that feel good to feel
stretched out and enjoyed for its stretching feelings. We moan along with the passing pleasure.
A pause for a thought arising, a piece of a dream fading, a pause to that. A silent empty peace
perhaps even unnoticed, shaken off with the habitual thought of having something to do. Walk out
and the light from eight minutes dawns upon the freshly unwashed face. The grandeur of clouds catching colors of morning light transfers itself imprinted glory upon the bloods responsible for passion in your heart. This subliminal worship of the morning sun happens for years before any public announcement of its acknowledgement. Most days begin with breakfast.
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