The morning is born in the forest
Walk into the forest any time of day and have Morning wash over you.
Hello, I'm Josefin, a spinner of wool and crafter of words. If you enjoy evocative writing about the little things in a big world, this space is for you. Bring your favourite tea mug and come sit beside me, I’ll be here.
The morning is born in the forest.
Like a quiet tune
struck alive
by the first ray of light,
heaving its way
across the understory,
Morning greets the world
with a whisper;
"I'm here now",
over blueberry bushes
and marsh rosemary,
tickling spruce shoots
and baby larch.
The moist of Morning
sets the dew aglow,
mirroring the stars
as if Night had rained
its treasures
onto the forest floor.
The morning is born in the forest,
drawing its juices
from deep within the roots
of Birch
and under the thrones
of great golden maidenhair.
Puff by puff,
the forest breathes out Morning
across fields and ponds,
to towns and villages,
waking all to the new day
with drops of delight.
By noon,
Morning retracts
to pine trunks and fallen logs,
lingering,
breathing,
like a sourdough waiting
to gain enough power
for the next loaf.
At dusk,
Night rolls its blanket
onto the land,
keeping Morning safe
in the cradle of roots and tree litter
until it is born again
the next morning.
When in the forest
lie down in the moss
and let Morning wash over you,
nourish your soul
and release your gifts
to the world.
Can you sense the morning when you walk in the forest? Or do you sense it somewhere else? Share if you like.