The first sight of morning, written without thinking, before the reality of day kicks in. The world as it is, not the world as we see it.
Mon: liquid sky swathes the sticky sun in a tide of blue; frothy white surf leads an intermittent charge, chasing something & then nothing.
Tue: truth drips from dancing leaves, the sweet taste of after-rain tickling the back of reciting throats, shiny pockets of promise soaring.
Wed: the moon conjures dawn & floats into the distance, its shadow bobbing in liquid sky, the bullying sun poised in a dark corner, waiting.
Thur: birdsong kisses the passing breezes & flies, a fledgling soaring for the flush cheeks of the moon, its soft face weeping clear waters.
Fri: day sprouts & blooms in the sun’s reflection, trees rustling like bells in the probing breeze, birds lunging from the edge of dreams.
Sat: facing the sun, a gull sketches across the sky, a scribe & quill spelling out the cloudy arrival of morning, its message yours & mine.
Sun: trees brush the cheeks of angels, yesterday’s tears sinking into the shadows of dancing memories, singing in the throats of birds.
Mon: dancing notes tickle rooftops & take flight, unlit stars brightening in that place beyond the rain, where the plumage of morning rises.
Tue: sky settles, a black pearl set on grainy clouds, liquid edges dripping from the darkest hour to damp earth, air thick in anticipation.
Wed: a fox lurks in the shadow of a tree, sunlight gleaming in freckle faced hair, the stillness of morning sinking like a riverbed stone.
Thurs: melodies fall from the blurry sky like snowflakes, memories melting onto the shoulders of morning, spirits slipping into the shadows.
Fri: sky wakens out of sleep, blue eyes blinking against paleness of face, tears of yesterday the burden of swallows flying to earth’s edge.
Sat: light falls from the sky as firmly as the gannet’s strike, fulsome leaves whispering on twisted trees, a hooded crow uncovering mystery
Sun: dawn governs speaking tongues & morning song pushes into sky like smoke from a camp fire, ash like mist glistening on tufts of grass.
Mon: dawn glows, rising up from unlit stars, scattering dew on land & sea; birdsong sprinkling silvery dreams that fell from the distant moon
Tue: a river of birdsong roosts on treetops, its waves migrating from cloud to shadow, crisp notes sprinkling like a fairy’s magic dust.
Wed: magpies dance on trees, tipping hats welcome the passing morning, clouds stretch to offer shelter, angels hiding in the silvery cloak.
Thur: dawn sits on a pillowy cleft of cloud; a fox struts casually into its dewy bright light, pushing into the new day like a stubborn curl
Fri: clouds disappear from sky like lost youth, their weightless memories savoured in glassy sun, bowing in the wake of sharp new horizons.
Sat: peewits tumble, liquorice coloured waves tickling sky & pushing into soulful song, the beating wings of morning chasing distant stars.
Sun: rabbits disappear into gorse, their wake a trail of dancing wild cotton, parting the blurriness of misty rain, lost in swelling tides.