And then, this good morning, how happy and glad you will be, day by day, week by week, year by year!
Who has not seen the dawn?
Who has not held the joy of sunrise?
When it came on, what was it but as if some eternal light had given glory to the world, and as if the future was made glorious before we saw it?
The air seemed full of it, and my soul, not wholly in tune with the day, seemed a full box of sunshine.
All, just all, was so lovely that I felt that it would not have been justice to anyone to send a low, dull, oppressive day to him.
If this morning did not deserve my raptures, I wondered what could possibly deserve them.
There is nothing in the world that is so delightful.
How did it get like this?
It is in one way to have these good mornings: this morning, this morning!
And yet the world was not designed for them.
Its beauty is only of such a loveliness that we are stupid if we can look at it without seeing the future glory of it.
To have them in the wintertime, when life is just beginning to stir, is something too wonderful to be seen merely as a convenience.
In order that the golden beauty may be present, the following conditions must be in operation.
First, a bare, clear sky must be free of clouds.
The sky has no dignity for its beauty if the heavens are full of clouds.
Second, no wind.
No wind is there for the clouds to play in; the sky should be entirely calm.
Third, no fog.
A night – fog, or fog that comes up like clouds out of the low country, is ugly and unnatural.
Fourth, there must be a break between two of their souls.
To crawl upward to the thin crust of Earth.
:: 03.29.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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