The blank page is like the blank morning sky at 5:30 and 6:10 and 6:30. A canvas I have seen infinite times before and yet never like this, never this deep shade of indigo unfolding to grey tinged with hints of pink and orange until a proud blue sky emerged, until rays of light flooded my room, and an entire moment within a moment within a moment was born somewhere between the weight of sleep and the open hopeful expanse of one more new day. This sun would never rise in quite the same way, just like these words that emerged hours later were somehow hidden like a secret in the sunrise and brought a pleading urgency to stay awake to pay close attention. Yes, more important now than ever to notice all of it with a soft heart and open eyes and gentle hands. To both give and receive light and touch and words like infinite starry blessings that hide with mischief in the velvet night sky before the blessing of new light.
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