I lay naked on a rock, the sun streaming broken through the trees. Its rays dance across my body sucking the droplets from my skin. The water is rushing all around me. The sounds of nature cacophonous. I don’t think there is a more pure way to spend the morning than sunning on a rock after a dip in the creek, a book my only shield from the sun.
It is a serious thing to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world. —Mary Oliver