Slow to rise, I feed the kitties and take my coffee outside to a bench.  Owl is hooting and two furry beaked heads peek from the nest.  I sit, in mist.

My friends and I discuss what is ours to contribute now at our age.  The many crises of the moment have us all awake.  I’m feeling myself as beginning. I’m in tune with the baby birds in the nest.

I come to this quote by Rilke, one of my favorite poets and guides.

If the Angel comes, it will be because you have convinced her, not by tears, but by your humble resolve to always be a beginner.

Morning Mist

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