A new day. Fresh hope.
My mother always told me ... Tomorrow never comes. But it does. It's here now. The birds herald its arrival. Tomorrow's waiting in the wings of the still dark day, ready to go onstage today at sunrise.
I like the idea of new. New day. New ideas.
Spring always feels new to me. Innocent. Soft. Sweet.
This spring feels more miraculous than ever after an especially heavy and long-lasting winter. I'm in awe of every new petal and unfolding leaf; and I hug myself with every single moment of warmth I can find. It's a new year and there's baby lambs just up the road standing on new legs - and hope's easy to find.
As a teacher, I always get another new year every September. It's a lot like another spring what with all that's fresh. First days of school are magical and clean and bright and full of new growth too. Just as autumn ends a New England growing season, there's lots of fresh starts beginning just inside my classroom door.
January, May, and September order my world and prioritize what's new and renewed. Again and again. Even Monday mornings begin a new work week and signal that hope's open and ready for business.
That's what beginnings are, I think. Any beginning feels like hope. From birthdays to today's 4:36 bird call, we all get do-overs day after day after day.
And it's not as though yesterday or last year or last week was all that bad, or that I'm looking toward today's light as a reincarnation to move past some yesterday regret. It's not that at all for me. It's just a new opportunity for my dreams to come out and play.
What will I do today?
Who will I be?
Where will I go?
Yesterday lived its life well. A tomorrow is waiting and today's ready to begin.
How will you live new today?