A Word to the Morning

The quiet inside has served its purpose, but a man cannot rule from closed shutters alone. Stepping out past the tall French doors, I walked onto the stone balcony above the morning street. On the weathered balustrade, a single ripe mandarin sat left behind beside a chipped terracotta saucer. I approached with slow, deliberate steps and laid one hand flat against the cool rind. Beneath us, the town was stirring in the clear air. One must see the world to govern it with respect.