Welcoming the morning

Mid-November Sunday and the crows are cawing overhead; I wonder what has disturbed them.  Not the gently floating clouds moving steadily from the west, or the pale blue sky beyond.  Not the sun just rising in a silver halo, further south than in summer, caught in the valley between two houses looking like a delicious cocktail.  So many other birdsongs fill the air making trills or tunes, talking to each other, welcoming the morning.

How do we welcome the morning?  Sometimes I walk through it with my head in the future and my heart in the past, not engaging with it at all.  Sometimes it sits heavily on my shoulders, carrying the weight of an overfull day or of jobs left undone.  But there are many days when I can capture the early morning before the day begins, enjoying its newness fresh from the east, unencumbered by times beyond.  The sun may call me out, or the clouds and rain wrap me cosy inside.  The wind may have such a conversation that it blows all other thought away, or it may lie still, holding the space.  And the birds are always present although it can take a few minutes to notice the sweetness of their song, to listen beyond and not within my thinking.

Some religions may have words or actions to welcome the morning.  I just find it and sit in it, welcoming its presence.