Morning All the Time

Morning All the Time

There is time. There is no time. Never enough time. Then there are times. Times, as when waking with a newborn, a baby, a toddler, a child, there is a vibrancy invisible, a presence of space, an air of expectation, a sea of possibility. The light breaking with the day. That is some time. Never returning to what was. Never knowing what will be. Then as the day draws on, the energy fades, the light becomes ordinary, a forgetfulness ensues. Sometimes I wish it could be morning all the time.