A Writer Was Here

On early morning writing

Trillium — photo by author

Early morning light on memories of who I
used to be. Colors shift from obsidian to
opal and orange spectral, energizing a
world that is yet to be. I see my
place in this contest, a viewer of
spectacle, not the author, the describer,
cataloguer if you will, of all the unfolding
hopes and ambitions of those caught
somewhere between opera and eternal
recurrence. And I saw that it
was Good.