The morning breaks

My morning walks are not always about exercise. They impart to me a renewal of life and all of the gifts that can be bestowed upon me

As is now my habit, I awaken as the night and day divide, pull on my spandex and sneakers and venture out to see what the morning holds. My clothing is not made to impress but rather to facilitate the task before me. Fashion is not to be dealt with yet.

When my feet hit the pavement, my muscles awaken from their reverie in a confusing sequence of synaptic balance sending signals to my brain that all is not right. My calves and thighs pull back as I stride forward but their efforts are fruitless. For my newfound ritual they reward me with twinges of pain that I am now able to ignore for I am in the moment and have become a part of the day.
I swing the first corner and I head for the center 'crowning' of the street, to aid my balance and set my center of gravity. It is now that my body reluctantly follows perfecting each step into a rhythm and retrieving the memory of my days as a runner.

As my pace progresses, the cool morning air rushes in and out of my lungs holding court with the cadence of my footsteps. It is now that I am truly able to see my surroundings and keenly take them in. The solar lamps still hold a glimmer as I approach the end of my property to illuminate my way at this time that has no name, not being able to claim the title of day or night. It is uniquely it's own as I drink in it's unnamed essence.

To the right of me I can make out the outlines of the "house of broken dreams'. It's a large, impressive structure with turrets and gingerbread detailing that was only lived in for a year. The family that once resides in it broke apart and the house was soon to follow. Just as the owners dreams had crumbled, the house follows suit as the porch falls into decay and the driveway buckles allowing the weeds to spring from the cracks. The trees reach closer to the siding and the vines take over the railings where it will progress back into the woods long forgotten as the persons that once inhabited it.

I pass the cattle pond and the egrets take great amusement in skimming across the water, each taking its turn. Herons ignore their antics and gingerly navigate the shallows to find any prizes in their wake while the mallards paddle aimlessly into the depths oblivious to the activity around them.

On the white fence posts perch the crows let out their shrieks of disapproval as I enter their newly claimed space. As I invade their territory, I can feel the burn in my legs as I as the muscles strain against the incline. My breathing pattern changes as I garnish more oxygen out of necessity and patiently await for the next turn that will be a soft decline. I am now fully awake and am able to process the true glories of an unfettered morning. The smell of magnolias rushes to me, evoking memories of years gone by and the cardinals greet me with lyrical tones as they play tag with me hopping along my pathway and rushing to the trees at the last moment.

I take my turn back when I can see sunlight touching the very tops of the trees and wonder what it really feels like to come in first. The creek throws up a light haze as it adjusts itself to a newly found temperature which will disappear as soon as it finds its balance just as I have.

I finally begin the end of my journey as I place my feet back on my street and spy the vastness of the property and my home. The great oaks stand mightily adorned with the Spanish moss that gives them a lace like quality and I spy the oldest one of 200 years and see my children playing in it one more time yet knowing that they are now grown. My morning purpose at an end, I begin the walk up the driveway and ponder the moment that I was once a part of and now is past. I've been given the great gift of another morning. I pray that I hold it close and keep a tiny bit of its glory for this present of a new day!

Author's Note

See what you think. I'm trying my best to get into the right category but I'm still not sure.