“There is nothing like the silence of the morning,” my ears whisper to my brain.
My empty coffee mug plays silently on the wooden table.
A java residue coats my mouth and my tongue whispers, “Appreciate your time alone
with only the voices of your thoughts.”
My paper plate, licked clean of butter, ricotta cheese and crumbs of matzah, shines in the
reflected light of the early morning sun.
My stomach hears the silence and digests the words of a poem.
A poem entitled, “Love the Silence of the Morning.”