The clouds blurred white on the blue blur of morning sky and all around the wind stood still and trees stirred. Sun sank down the well of day and struck light sang birds. Woods backed away from the passive power lines, as in this day and age wires still carried word. And the word was getting good.
All glory to the gods, goddesses, godheadedness that could heap such riches on us bitches. All around we are found. All along hear the song. Hallelujah, despite the news.
Should I falter, yank my halter, I’ll draw farther from the trough and closer to the altar. I am yours to do with what I please.
Such were my morning prayers.
Trees defy the breeze blowing in the opposite direction. Clouds move up and down instead of north, south, east or west. Every item on the agenda moves as it sees fit and in the end sees fit to fit. The trees and clouds have resumed normal operations.