It is the wafting threads of rising dough

the strains of lifting music 

that beg to be turned up louder

It is the first glimpse of a new day

a fresh chance after darkness and tears in the night

The stir of tiny movements after a

horrifying absence

When the facade is down and all is

revealed as broken, wanting, weak

The embrace of a rescuer, the

reassuring words of reality

of a story that wants to be told

It is the rising again

and again.

This post is part of the Five Minute Friday challenge that I’m participating in along with a talented community of other writers. We free write for five minutes each Friday in accordance with a prompt. Today’s prompt is ‘joy’.