☀️ Toward the Sun ☀️

I woke to hush, to heat, to grace —

a whisper brushed my weathered skin.

The dawn had dressed the trees in lace,

and begged me let the light back in.

☀️

The canvas stirred — the flap fell wide —

and golden air came pouring through.

July had come, and with her, pride —

and something in me felt brand new.

☀️

The grass was damp, the breeze was kind,

it kissed my neck with river’s care.

The firs stood tall like they’d been blind,

but now could see the morning there.

☀️

The flowers bloomed like second chance —

like youth I spent and let decay.

The petals swayed in slow romance,

and said: you made it here — now stay.

☀️

The kettle sang — a low refrain —

that matched the heartbeat in my chest.

And tea and time both eased the strain

of all I’ve ruined, chased, confessed.

☀️

The birds still screamed — of course they did —

the feathered fools with fire for breath.

But still, between each brutal bid,

was proof of life — not yet of death.

☀️

The wind ran fingers through my hair —

it smelled of smoke, and summer’s wine.

It told me gently, you were there —

but here begins the cleaner line.

☀️

I thought of all I left behind —

the doors I closed, the bridges burned —

the years I let the dark unwind,

the lessons lost, the time unlearned.

☀️

But still — this heat, this sky, this sound —

they held me like a word unsaid.

A moment where the world feels round,

and nothing aches but what’s long dead.

☀️

So I stood up — with spine unbowed —

and felt the ash fall from my lungs.

I faced the sun, and said aloud:

the run begins — the song is sung.

☀️

And all that’s left — is forward tread —

no looking back, no soft retreat.

For life begins where doubt has bled —

and ends in fire beneath the feet.

☀️

I wrote this poem for Mike Singleton’s “On A July Morning” dollar challenge, and I’ve gotta say, I enjoyed the process. I’ve not written poetry in a long while, and I’m not sure I’m over the moon with this. However, it was an honest reflection of the morning, cathartic in a lot of ways, and I enjoyed it. I may come back and play around with this some more, but for now, this is what I had in me. You can find Mike’s challenge post here:

🪓 Like what you read?🪓

🪙 Then toss a coin into the fountain.

Make a wish —

for wilder words, sharper truths,

and more wild-folk with wild hair doing wild things.

Each offering stirs the water, feeds the fire,

and helps one such beast keep writing beneath the stars.

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