Fresh Eyes

Today, every year, is unlike other days
For me;
It always will be.
And on days like today,
I look at things differently,
Or for some reason,
Everything seems different.

I love to savour my morning view
Of the rising sun;
It always is a sight, o’, worth every second,
Every “bless you” of the early birds…
Ah, the early birds. Of course—
Such are the sights, only few catch.
I watched the sun rise today
And I loved its warmth on my skin,
And I loved the smell of the morning air,
And I loved the look of the horizon,
And how farther away it stole me,
With the melodies of the birds. It was all
Refreshing;
It was all alright, lovely, incredible.
But it also felt
Different—
All of it.

I love to take my bones
On a freshness test
Every morning, nowadays.
I love the feel
Of my flesh and my warmth
Over the cool and the damp earth.
I love to walk through the shivers, some more,
Underneath the shadows of tall trees
And to the grace of the rising rays;
The warm rays, peering through
The stretching branches and the quivering leaves.
I often come upon people,
Living their lives, up, and down, and every way,
Meeting, laughing, buying, running, riding…
Ah, the runners and the riders—
They take me back in time
To much I miss.
More go up, and down, and every way.
Everyone has their “something” every day;
I had my “something” today.
I smiled, anyway, walking by,
Feeling odd, but feeling alright,
Feeling different…
Feeling much—o’, these feelings!

“But how many?” I thought,
“And how many more such days?
The strange ones, the odd ones,
The cold ones, with the sun up,
The slow ones, with the wind strong—
The complicated days; the days
Unlike many other days of my years.”
Today, I chose to look at every new day
With fresh eyes.