As I was about to go to sleep last night, which is the time when I do my best thinking, I came up with the idea for this post. I wanted to write a poem and then share with you a picture of what my handwriting looks like. Sharing this with you, to me, seems a way to share myself on a more personal level. What’s funny is that my print and cursive handwriting vary so much. I actually write much better than I print. When writing in my journal, I usually choose to write in cursive. In recent years, I’ve heard that local schools are no longer going to be teaching cursive handwriting in school. I can’t believe this! How are these kids ever going to sign their name? It’s weird to me and it doesn’t really make sense. It’s a beautiful part of literacy that shouldn’t go to the wayside. I think it’s a gift to be able to write beautifully. Even if it’s not taught in school years from now, I’m still going to teach my children.
Just in case you can’t quite read my handwriting, I’ve typed the poem out for you here. This poem is specifically about this morning, but is, in all honesty, the same as every morning for me. Thanks for reading!
Another day of sunlight,
peeking through as the earth wakes from sleep.
disappearing in the heat of the sun.
A breeze kisses my cheek,
laced with honeysuckle nectar,
a smell so sweet I can taste it.
I raise my arms,
releasing sleep’s grip,
welcoming a new day,
a time to start again.
yet heavy with dew,
enters every pocket of my lungs.
I enjoy this time,
pre-coffee & fluorescent lights.
This time lasts not at all.
I unlock the door,
the only sound,
friction between carpet and shoes.
the coffee machine,
the infancy of a new day.