A mourning dove coos just outside the front of the house,
its soft call unanswered.
It is one of the bird sounds I cherish.
It reminds me it is morning;
it reminds me of every morning.
The languid stillness just before dawn,
before the sun brings the hastiness of the day.

The dove is now gone, replaced by the chirping and chatter of other birds. I hear the traffic up on Newberry Road. My day begins. Shall I make this day or shall it make me? What shall I make it or am I at its whim? The day knows the directions, a format is set. Shall I surrender to the format, be a quiet passenger? It means I must accept where we end up. It is a willingness to give control…and responsibility….away. Ah, but what an illusion, a fantasy. Not only is this my day – my train – but it is my rail and my engine. I am conductor. I drive this train. I also control all the switching stations, the yard, the number of box cars. While an occasional break is welcome, I am comfortable as conductor. It is not that I wish to stop the train or exit the train. I think I would like to take a different trip, add another route, alter what passes outside and the speed at which I run. But my rail system is a closed loop. Eventually, I return to the station, that place I call home.

Kindness to one self is my hope for this day.

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