My Magic Hour
Sunrise. Mist dances upon still waters.
The world still slumbers, except me and the loon. He calls across the lake, an ode to the rising sun.
This is my magic hour--when time stands still and quiet soothes my brain.
Except soon that sun will break the horizon line, rousing crows in trees and humans in beds as it shines through bedroom windows.
But this moment is still mine.
I drink it in.
Let the water baptize me, make my soul as clear as the lake.
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