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The morning sunrise,

feel sun drip into our eyes

now we ought to rise.

My eyes flutter open and dart to the windowsill, my lucky wooden spoon is still there from last night. I leap out of bed and nearly fall sprinting to the window, I feel the excitement start to rise as the snowflakes begin to fall.

To be told you can write anything makes it hard. The freedom gives you too much room. Seems easy, but really, the possibilities become overwhelming. I am not a writer. I write because that is what I am told to do.

If I were to relive one day over and over again, my day would be simple. It wouldn’t be a holiday or any special day in particular. Not one that is even that much different from every other day.

I look around, admiring the gorgeous flowers and fresh mulch, if you blink you might miss it; if you’re rushing you might not even notice. It’s an ode to calming down and taking a moment, giving a chance to reflect.

I didn’t particularly care about having a sister, at the ripe age of 3 it was indifferent to me and as long as I didn’t have to share my toys. I guess I didn’t know I would be getting a companion, a best friend.