The morning slips in on quiet feet,
Light spilling gold across the floor,
A yawn, a breath, the world repeats
Its oldest spell once more.
Coffee steams like whispered dreams,
Birdsong stitches sky to tree,
Time slows down in simple seams
Of small infinity.
A stranger’s smile, a sudden laugh,
Wind that knows your name,
Moments pass along your path
Soft sparks without a flame.
No thunder roars, no heavens part,
Yet wonder finds its way—
The truest magic lives and starts
In the ordinary day.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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