Arising at four a.m. I witness the flash of dawn, a ritual these days. Teacup warming my hand, I raise the porcelain cup from my grandmother’s tea set treasured, passed on to me, perfect for celebrating each new day on Mother Earth’s green earth.
A hearty hooty-hoot-hoot echoes through the tall trees as the repetitious call interrupts my focus on the silver flash of dawn and the sun breaking over the treetops across the Kennebec.
Sliding glass doors allow a vast view of steaming fog-pods rising from the forest floor out of the lush garden; a thick carpet filled with varieties of green ferns.
Secrets and worries whispered evaporate away, silently upward into the Universe safe forever more.