Monday: Birds are in fine voice, hiccups of song in anticipation of morning sweeping across the rooftops, easing us into its possibilities.
Tuesday: blue sky weaved with pink & silver threads, the moon winking a cheeky farewell from its fabric. Curtains up, let's go. Morning all.
Wed: Soft sky; morning an expectant orchestra to the east, tree branches sway in dance of anticipation, soft rain the musical accompaniment
Thursday: Grey-black sky, the darkest hour paddles in orange oily pavements, trees bow & yawn, gathering strength to welcome another day.
Friday: The sky falls, curious tears flirting with earthy roots, its playful vessel ebbing & flowing, teasing us to ride the morning tide.
Saturday: electric sky, broad swathes of wind swooshing determined cloud to the west, our impatient heels clicking as we chase the new day.
Mothering Sunday: Angels peer from the shoulder of an almost life, tiny wings carried by silent gusts, their empty hush the weeping of hearts
Monday: clouds circle, enveloping earth in a whiteness of swans. Wings outstretched we walk on its soft feathers, the day still & quiet.
Tuesday: early morning sky mimics dusk, its playful hue chasing both light & dark, turning with encouraging nod, venturing forward & back.
Wednesday: a ribbon of yellow blends into the night sky, flowing under & over, binding with the faintest sense of yesterday, pushing on.
Thursday: the earth, still & expansive, waits to swallow the tumbling chaos of another day, roots poised to sup the sweet nectar of morning.
Friday: the house stretches into the weekend, its broad back pushing icy rain on to shiny pavements, speckles of orange winking in windows.
Saturday: a bright sky, an artist sweeping an innocent white across its canvas, the new day emerging from the soft lips of watching angels.
Sunday: the street snuggles under a blanket of fresh snow, soft flakes the down of a pinking sky. A passing choir opens its throat in song.
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