A word often used by itself as a greeting. A simple word of which we all know the meaning. Just hold on, though. Do we?
Taking a purely technical approach, if the time now is, say, 23:59 on Friday, then in two minutes’ time it will be 00:01 on Saturday. That makes it Saturday morning. Very early on Saturday morning, I grant you, but Saturday morning nevertheless.
From a more social angle, the mood on a Twitter timeline from around 06:00 onwards is dependent on many factors including the weather, the day of the week, contributors’ general health, the events of the past evening, the wakefulness of small children through the night, and prospects for the day ahead, whether work-related or just involving activities that insurance companies class as ‘social, domestic and pleasure’. (What a mix-up!)
Then again, here is a picture which I call ‘Morning’ because of the memory it gives me:
But what should the term ‘morning’ really mean to us in the context of a fresh opportunity for the psyche? Need we limit the idea to the start of a literal day? Can we not think of it as a breakout into a fresh part of our lives – away from the previous day, the last six weeks, five years, or whatever? Well, these musings led to this poem. See what you think.
The Song of Morning
Whatever yesterday has been –
Whatever horror you have felt or seen –
The song of morning gives to you her promised token:
Implants new fire with precious words now spoken
In a vista – in a touch – to those who have awoken.
For she is a song that is alive and has a being –
Has eyes to give a smile – not just for seeing.
Yet see she does the sadness of her friend –
Comes with a fragrant balm the wounded heart to tend;
Into that inner space her love she dares to send.
She calls to tell you what is truly ‘morning’.
Yes! Whispers softly what is truly ‘dawning.’
More than the change of fingers on a clock –
More than a working day’s fresh culture shock –
More than another ship called Duty making dock.
A clear horizon melts from blue to gold.
The story of today is waiting to be told.
The song of morning offers you a hand to hold
So that you need not walk uphill alone,
Nor yet despair of finding answers yet unknown.
The song of morning takes you in her arms,
Invokes the waking breeze to soothe dread qualms;
Caresses you with new sunlight and calms
The fevered mind with sights as yet unseen,
Whatever yesterday has been.