Good morning, my sweet, haunted home.
Good morning my coffee cups and ghosts and jars of grave dirt and storm water and things that skirt away when looked at and glassless windows and broken mirrors and empty clocks and lost spirits and rocks that I swear were a different color last night and vials of moonlight suspended in water.
Good morning books read and loved, good morning books and unread but never unloved, good morning pens and jars of ink that work and jars of gunk that were formerly ink that never quite sorted themselves out.
Good morning letters and cards and notes and things to say to people and things that ought have been said sooner and good morning secrets that will never be shared.
Good morning sunrise above the lake, good morning nymphs and mermaids and swimming monsters that lure the unwary to their doom and the unwise out of their breakfast because you know I cannot resist those teeth when you smile so wide and bright. I don’t mind sharing. I brought extra.