To affect the quality of the day,
that is the highest of the Arts.
Henry Thoreau

The plaintive call of mourning doves
awakens you.

Pay attention,
feel the stirring in your loins,
even though it isn’t spring.

Set your senses on fire.

You swim out of the mindless torpor
of an estuary into the open sea,

ready to make something
out of nothing.

In the stillness of the moment,
without trying,
just effortless effort,

the day becomes
a work of art.