Morning Glory

What do the angels bring? I look at a fiery maple on October 26th and it seems only a color, a percept sudden and heavy on the memory, increments of autumn behind the eyes. When I think of anything, I complicate it. I interfere with it's serenity. Can I call myself deliberate, when I don't even understand how I am here at all, let alone a filled outline in space that assesses the plain calm things around it?

I think things are looking up, friends. I think what is future is latent now, and steadfast in its resolve. I have some glory to acknowledge, now. To my breaths, to your face in my hands, to the mornings that bloom golden until we wake calm and still. To the rising for breakfast, energetic and healthful. To the rest that I shall find when I seek it.

Bliss doesn't need to be a frenzied thing, does it? I am feeling like a willow about to receive the wind.