The horizon stirs in shades of apricot,
a quietness that ripples into being—
no haste, no claim upon the world's wide lot,
just luminance unfolding, soft and freeing.
The clouds drift slowly, painted rose and cream,
like music played on instruments of light—
each hue a note within a gentle dream,
dissolving into clarity so bright.
The air itself seems woven from repose,
a silver stillness holding morning's glow—
the sky becomes a garden where light grows,
petals of radiance in endless flow.
And there, where darkness melts to amber warmth,
the awakening arrives without a sound—
no thunder, just a soft celestial form,
a blessing spreading outward, all around.
The day begins as rivers begin their course,
with patience, grace, and quiet constancy—
a luminous and ever-present force,
unfolding into what it's meant to be.