In Stray Birds by the poet Rabindranath Tagore is the line:
Do not say, "It is morning," and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.
Write some reflective prose or a poem based on the idea that a morning can be compared to 'a new-born child that has no name'. What might you name that child, and what kind of person might they grow up to be?
Or if you prefer, write something else on the topic of mornings. What do you see, hear, smell when you open your eyes? Do you check the news or social media first thing, or do you wait? Has your morning routine - if you have one - changed in the last few weeks, and in what ways?
