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.