The Morning After The Night Before.

I searched and wandered the morning, I found mist and dew, I found cold shadows, I found damp.
I found cold grey hillsides sheathed in a spongy blanket of moss, I found trees and ferns that dripped tears of water collected throughout the nights dreary hours, I found heavy hung clouds that were in a rush to retreat to the hills.

I found shattered shards from tipped and toppled glasses that only a few hours ago contained happiness, wit and long forgotten stories that had matured into exuberant and loaded with lavish yet like-able tales.
I found damp embers of wood that earlier warmed us and nourished our souls, the flames that licked the skies now long gone. I found a dance-floor sized spread of flattened grass and soggy soil that had once moved with us to a musical tune.

I found early morning birds with ruffled feathers scavenging lawns in search of a easy breakfast, shrugging off the cold as they went about their chores that were driven by evolved instincts.
I found dustbins that had been bastardly savaged and its contents examined and strewn across pathways, the edible delectables stolen to the hills, care of a troop of manic monkeys.

I found that the morning was groggy, along with my head. I found myself tracing my steps back to the warmth and security of my blankets. I found myself sniffing at the sodden air, somehow expecting the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, some salvation.

I found the sun breaking over the crest of the highest peak. I found others strolling around the gardens, holding their heads low, perhaps searching for what I was just looking for.

This morning I found life in the mundane, I found life in my surroundings, I found life.

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