In the Morning

Two birds.

There are mornings I wake before dawn and lie with my eyes closed in the bed like a curled cat tangled in blankets while all around me there is grey light and the mourning doves outside the window. Without dreaming and without thinking I am listening: cars gliding through the empty streets, the fluttering of birdswings, and the planes that pass overhead, in the same line every time. Eventually, I rise and become awake in this quiet room alone with white walls and clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink from yesterday. Coffee brims in my secondhand mug (“Georgia”) and my eyes are tired, sleeping slits examining the world outside in a sense that is at once guarded and in wonder.

Here are two pictures from yesterday. You remember Africa.


I am thankful for the things I have, and will continue to keep them close at hand. Without examining I will see everything at once, and I will see that it is good.

We are bike rides across bridges, departing and returning in concert.


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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