A rooster crows in the background as hinges creak for unlatched doors and free hung signs swing in the wind. The music of movement: steady with the prevailing breath only to be surprised by crescendos of sudden gusts and prolonged howls. This music brings me out of sleep.
A bright, bright morning streams in the window as the storm clouds break down like circus tents, loaded up to move onto the next town. In procession of silver, grey and cotton candy puffs, the clouds move on, opening greater expanses of blue. Lighting up the satiated grass so green; flowers, gold, purple, rose, budding everywhere.
I surface, free of disturbed dreams. The inventory of consciousness taken finds the body is indeed refreshed. As refreshed as the world outside. It is a miracle. Last night's discomforts carted off with the breezes, I rejoice with the breaks in the sky.
That is the miracle of a new day.
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