Morning in the Valley

Nestled in the crook of the mountainous arm

Quaint cottages and tiny bungalows

Stand resolutely.

The chimneys channel

The rising puffs of smoke

To an azure sky

As the ever rising sun

Sneaks above the horizon.

Ah! Beautiful morning!

A silent ushering of peace.

The awakening of the dawn

Occupants arise to 

The pleasures of the day

Choices

My past overclouds my future:

These choices I have made.

Though right or wrong, I don't know

But made just the same.

I cannot go undo them

Or change the past long spent.

I only have the future

To make my difference.

Uniquely me, one of a kind,

I am confident in who I am.

mb. w. 

Letters

There is something about letters grouped together side by side. They tell us where. They show us what. They give us so much information about things tangible and intangible. They can exalt the lowest servant or humble the prideful king. They travel over oceans and live in wooden homes. They cascade from human lips with lithe tunes of love. They can be small and short or large and tall. Transverse continents, cultures, and ages. Ever changing but always there. They are the ultimate symbols of life. We know these groups of letters as words.