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There are morning stars,
there is morning music,
there are morning flights,
there is morning light,
there are morning people,
there is morning life waking up in cities,
towns, villages, homes, rooms, apartments, houses,
in families, in beds, in nature, in nests, in barns,
peacefully, calmly, dreamily,
and sometimes with a shock or a fright-
morning time for some is the best and the most wonderful,
for some when they wake up and they look out the window
the world looks as if it could stretch to infinity.

There are morning moments that can’t be replayed
at any other time of the day;
there are morning delights that make you smile;
there are morning voices and faces
that tell you that everything is going to be ok;
there are morning trials that you must sometimes run through
to make everything that you do worthwhile.

There is morning inspiration;
there is morning fascination;
there is morning creation;
there is morning elevation;
there is morning gravitation;
there is morning communication;
there is morning articulation;
there is morning anticipation;
there is morning illumination;
there are morning constellations,
still bright in the sky and shining,
as they have been for a million years;
there is a new day that I always enjoy exploring;
there are beautiful morning views that bring you to tears;
there is a miraculous magic to be found
in the light, the sounds, the time, the rituals,
of every morning.

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It’s a brand new morning,
on a brand new day,
at a brand new time,
for a brand new me;
it’s a brand new dawning,
on a brand new path,
to a brand new way,
at a brand new place,
with a brand new state of mind,
for a brand new poem,
about a brand new us,
and a brand new life for us
to live breathe and see.

I feel like I am going back to school.
I feel like I am having to learn things over again.
I feel like I am discovering
and tapping into a new source of inspiration fuel.
I feel like I am learning more about myself
every time I sit down with a piece of paper and a pen.
I feel like I am crossing a border
to an unfamiliar territory.
I feel like I am ripping out the last page of my story
from my book, and throwing it into the wind
for someone else to find and one day return to me,
and then we can both know what my last word
and what my last line of poetry will be.

It’s a fresh air that I feel,
and a fresh perspective that I now have.
It’s a fresh surge of blood, energy, and love
that I feel pumping and beating from my heart.
It’s a fresh and gleaming new coat of paint on the world
that I can see my face in,
because the shine is so clear when I look at it
I am instantly reflecting.
It’s a fresh cup that I am drinking from,
as I make the best of every second
of my fresh start.

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At dawn, when the cloud patterns in the sky
are unlike any that you have ever seen,
when the trees against the sky look like stencils on a canvas-
monochrome, like the birds that nest within them-
as seen from a distance, like something out of a silent movie scene.

At daybreak, when sunlight first touches the rooftops of houses
and bounces off windows, when everything looks shiny and new-
like the first time that you ever opened your eyes,
looked up in curiosity, and asked why the sky is blue.

From the moment that we learn to talk
we are all asking important and fundamental questions;
it may not sound or seem so at the time,
but the questions that we begin to ask when we are a child
we still continue to ask as an adult-
though they may see some reinvention.

From the moment that we wake-up in the morning,
we crave the one thing that we need to open our mind
and complete the circuit that will set us in good-stride
for the horizons of the new day before us;
from the moment that we begin again to reconnect with the world,
we always go to the source that enlightens, entertains, and aligns us,
and to the relationships that we have grown to trust.

As soon as we first venture out into the world,
as soon as we take our first step out of the door
to wherever it is that we are going-
we can already sense something in the air,
we can already feel the changes within us and around us that are undergoing;
as soon as we first hear the voices
and the conversations that are taking place,
between friends and family on phones, silently at fingers touch,
or to people standing or sitting side-by-side-
we are equally intrigued by what everyone has to say;
however, sometimes, we can all feel like satellites
circling other satellites in outer-space.

Even though we all know nothing about everything,
we know what we need to know to keep our world turning,
to keep us going, and to bolster our will-
because, even though all worlds change, don’t stop,
and can seem chaotic and confusing up-close,
when seen high above- like a planet in space-
all things seem logical, peaceful,
all things seem still.

Barefoot, at dawn,
in the soft sun-bathed sand of the beach,
I left my footprints in the sand for others to follow-
hoping to learn, hoping to teach.

As I looked into and out to the beautiful, perfect, blue sea,
I was touched by inspiration, a blessing,
a shine of creativity, a muse of poetry.

I felt like I had received a message from someone,
and I felt this need to send one back-
and that is what I decided to do,
while standing looking out to the clear blue horizon,
as the white ocean waves crashed against my legs,
as I could feel the warm sun on my back.

So I took an empty bottle from my bag.
I took out a piece of paper with my name, my address,
a link that someone could use to contact me again later,
and an invitation for someone in the future to read my poetry,
and to reconnect with me.
I put the piece of paper in the bottle,
and then I sent my message and my bottle out into the blue,
and I watched them be carried out to sea.

As my message in a bottle was carried further and further out,
I watched it with hope in my heart
that someone would one day find it, read it, and understand it;
but I just know that they will, I know it beyond any doubt
that the message, the wish, the muse of me
would be seen, read, and felt, by another, and another, and another,
until we are all part of the same verse of poetry.

Who knows to where my message will go,
who knows how far it will travel,
who knows if my message will dance the waves fast or slow,
who knows whether my message will be read in France,
back in England, or wash up on the coast of Portugal.

I have no idea where the tides will take my voice,
but I have hope that whomever it finds
they will choose to follow the footsteps that I left on the beach,
on the sea, and on the sky,
and in the gift to be found by someone I have never met,
one day in my message in a bottle.

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