Morning Light

Do I need a sign,
waking to the soft morning light, 
sitting on the edge of sleep,  
that this day I dare to be content?

I am the sign. 
I am the eagle suspended in the valley. 
The avocados dripping, 
vainly glorious.

Silvery new leaves
on the Illawarra Flame Tree
after the rain. 
I am creation and destruction.

Folding into entropy. 
I am the sign. 
That this day I dare to be.
Then make myself a cup of tea. 

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