I love words. Spoken or written, words. Heard or read, words.
They inspire action, shift moods, sound alarms, raise volume, offer invitations, provide peace.
They might arrive for a brief visit.
They might stay for a long, long time.
They show us what to notice.
They remind us what we noticed long ago, but have recently forgotten.
This morning I could hold words about clouds and a rainbow and birds and a rabbit. I could keep them to myself. Or I could share those words with other eyes, with other minds, with you.
I could write, “The sun rose.”
I could write, “That’s a bright sun.”
Or I could write, “One eye, rising from under the trees, burned like a fire.”
I could. And I could write more words.
But, often, less is more.
Few words. Nice images. Morning memories.
That’s enough.
