The Mornings Still Come

The mornings come as they always have and I still rise as soon as I wake up, just as I always have. The big difference is the time in which I open my eyes, it's not nearly as early or punctual as it used to be. I still have to lay there for a minute, sorting the believable from the unbelievable dreams,  smiling at the thought of visiting those long gone and the fact that, in my dreams, I am forever young. Then I roll to the bed's edge, set up, stretch until it hurts, press my hair down with the palms of my hands and then stand and pause, just in case there is a new ailment to address. Possibly the best of all things nowadays, and there are many good things, is the fact that when I wake, though a touch of sadness may occasionally visit, dread is nowhere to be found.