Morning HAD broken, there were some givens and THEN, the mysteries of the day awaited, lying dormant; all hiding within the first rays of the sun. Some at the ready to latch on to the first breath, some lingering to the beads of perspiration as the day trudges on, some as reticent as the human in slow motion and some clinging to the sleepy eyed person still in bed. As if an alien, the mysteries of the day take on zigzag shapes as the clouds dance with the sun, then sparkle as the wind pushes them along, then dazzle as the sun finds its point of view at High Noon, announcing the morning has ended and the afternoon shall commence. The morning sun will rise, we know that, but it is the magic, the tragic, the drama, the trauma, the fate, the fortunate, the events that follow which are left for us to discover, fortunes rich or poor.
Morning HAD broken in Provincetown, a panorama of particulars eagerly waiting to be selected, OR a choice of only this or that…it doesn’t matter here…because no matter how much, or not at all…morning will arrive and the choices, chances consequences will wait and wait and wait.
Morning has broken in America, and we, all of us, can ignore its mysteries, fear its potential, or ignore its promiscuity. We can rise and shine, only to fall and fade…OR we can pick and choose and find the momentum in its magic. While, sitting on the wharf in Provincetown, watching the fire in the sky delight the heavens, I know that facing forward is the only way. The dark of night has many hours to confuse and scatter our consciences, so while the light of day is here, we must live large and live the life we are! Day Five
