Morning

Morning, then, differing from Good Morning! with a happy point. Just as a fish-hawk zips by my window and circles out above the Bay keen on breakfast, three pelicans in line fly by drawn east toward the soon-rising sun. On E.BeachDrive, I may walk by the same giant birds in two hours as they huddle beyond the gap, new owners of the storm-ravaged dock (a sunset photo snapped by a friend* a week ago). Serving a generation before me, tenuously meaning to outlast me (and I pray it does), that dock is older than my memories.

A moment ago I stepped outside and went to the rail of the porch to survey creation: it’s a short pants morning.

Everyone will have something to mourn about Orlando this morning and on and on, I can’t contribute any words that add worth. A bemoan perhaps, that I lived in a better Time, right at the bitter end of the Good Old Days when it seemed that hatred was going extinct. It isn’t.

DThos+

* Thanks, PB!