Sunday Morning Reflection

It is no longer early morning, yet the house still sleeps.I rise to sounds of rain on a canopy and insects emerging from the deep woods.The cawing of black birds joins a Sunday morning chorus of nature's mass beneath a late summer cathedral of leaves overhead. My soul laments past sin, my mind a constant buzz of everyday occurrence while close by a gentle whisper of breath brings back a simpler time. When did I begin to get old? Only in gray strained threads upon my head and lines forming at my brow reveal the trials and years of life to date accumulated. But still I revel in morning dew like a child I once knew perhaps not so long ago.