Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The morning came in the want of an embrace.
The night previous a chalant and whisper.
I stood to the embarrassment of a glass of wine,
And talked about the weather

Colour caressing the approaching noon day sun,
And the closing of a conversation
One fails to remember.

Only the phrases and few passing gestures,
In the remake of an oracle,
Predicting the fall of day.

A coffee on the verandah,
Overlooking a garden of renewal.
Rituals in a golden sunrise.

Orange marigolds and roses.
Dandelion grasses and straw.
As a walk in the meditation
Of words.
Beside waters and streams
And bridges,
In the tomorrow.

And a warm breeze.

This is a wonderful description of a hangover morning--one of the few good ones that happen from time to time.

Chalant is an interesting word. Does anybody know it's history?