Thursday Morning 

On the heels of Wednesday night, Thursday morning comes rolling in, wafting shades of sunny spring under lingering winter chill, and he asks me what I want today.

“I want the world,” is my reply with eyes wide and bright and dreamy.

To that he laughs, with bellows coming from deep inside and shakes the pink-hued sky.

“And you shall have it if you want it,” says he.

Then he opened the pastel blue morning and the world yawned and stretched under his watchful gaze.

“My child,” says he, “run the open fields and let the soft green grass tickle your feet. And let my morning sun caress your skin like a lover’s warm and gentle kiss. Drink deep of the earth cisterns and the hearty stuff of life. Love with abandon and let your heart run wild and free, while you taste the nectar of the earth. But remember, you only have twenty-four hours. Make it count. Because I do not own tomorrow. I can only give you today.”

And so I did. And never once did I look back.


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