It’s a beautiful morning.
Very beautiful. The sun’s rays are golden, a warm touch on the skin. The leaves around, the trees are turgid, reaching out to the slanting sun, thirsty, welcoming that warm life giving caress. The air is cold, carrying a memory of yesterdays rain. A rain in the middle of the dry season, or so it seems.
Equable climate. None of the extremes that our politics show. Not too hot, nor too cold; weather beautiful, climate lovely.
It is quiet. Children have trekked off to school in the usual morning noise.
Heard them, listened. The carjoling, the impatient urging of the more adult. But now a blessed calm, listening to the rustle of air in the tree tops. A calm to the ear, sound carrying far. A toddlers happy vrooming, in a very real imaginary vehicle all his own. A goat anxious for its kid, braying now and again. Birds. Bird song twittering in the distance. Liquid crystal notes on the air.
It is a beautiful morning. Happy that I have taken time off to listen and see the beauty as it unfolds. But now, I have work to do. The world was moving while I reposed in sleep, wonderfully unconscious, now and again seeking my lovers warm body. I have to catch up, though he still is asleep, a warm naked bundle in bed.
Scanned the local papers. Little of interest. These days they surprise me, suprises I would rather do without. But, as happy as I am that we are moving, I have to watch the competing and opposite push the other way.
The world is not without its contradictions. With Bashir of Sudan accused of genocide in Darfur, practical politicians are pointing out that if the president of
The nightmare in
Oh well. Even the Security Council could not get to grips with
But these things are not going to wash the sun of the morning from my mind.
It is a very beautiful day. Enjoy it.
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