5:59 a.m.
Waking
...
My hand hits the alarm. The room is dark. I peel the blankets back and slowly push myself up. My legs swing sleepily over the edge of the bed. My feet hit the cold hardwood floor. I stand. My eyes adjusting. I turn and pull the blankets over the warmth of where I just lay.
I'm waiting for it.
Amazing Grace...
The church bells from a block away ring with song. The same song morning after morning. I walk the mile, the morning mile, to the bathroom.
...
Freckled Bananas
...
You'll make a fine banana bread. Soon. Very soon. Whole wheat. Virgin olive oil. Walnuts.
...
Six Days a Week
...
He pours. I pour. The pasta hits the collander. The water cascades. A flush of heat. Our glasses and the window fog. Reaching...reaching...the petals tense towards the steam that rises. The orphan orchid on the window's sill suckles at De Cecco's breast.
...
One More
...
One more day of work. The week's end. I silently egress from the city. It is too late to turn back when I have remembered that I have forgotten the grocery list.
What a beautiful way to describe a Friday morning. It is the easiest day to do the morning mile to the bathroom, that's for sure.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, Tracy. :-) You are such a poet and I love your posts so much. Your words quiet and settle me, somehow, and help me slow down and be grateful. :-)
ReplyDeleteOof, Fridays are hard. Forgetting grocery lists is hard, unless you just give in to the whimsy of not having one. ;)
ReplyDeleteFabulous writing style -I especially like the church bells:)
ReplyDeleteI love the idea of the morning mile. You write so beautifully that you even make waking before 6am poetic and wonderful. I hope you remembered everything on that list.
ReplyDeleteThe sonorous church bells certainly must make it a little easier and a little more pleasant to put one foot in front of the other as you walk that mile.
ReplyDeletelovely writing about those routines, the familiars...
ReplyDeletelook at all those orchid blooms, poised to open!