Life is a mystery and the world a beautiful and complex place. So I write to make my way through it. This is how I shall liberate myself and make my own heart happy.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Morning

My eyes are steadied by the overhead fan.  The dark blades circle in play about the white ceiling.   I curve my body and pull the covers close.  I am cold, but I like the lulling fan.  

The birds are in the tree again and just outside my window.  The tree is inhabited by their melodic shrills and staccato, high-pitched bleats.  I slightly turn my head towards them – unable to resist or to understand.  Their call and response reminds me of a good Sunday morning sermon. 

My airy white room is made brighter still by the sun.  The lightness of the room is grounded by a few pieces of heavy furniture.  The walls are empty except for a gift from years ago.  Behind a dark frame and glass, is the sparse arrangement of curved wood elements.  A woman is praying.  

Lightly, almost magically, it begins to rain.  The rain thumps against the leaves of the big tree.  The birds have quieted.  There is a silence that I adore.

Always, there are things to do.  But, I look to the praying woman across from me and feel the fan above me.  I stretch and curl back up.  I rest again to ease into a new day.

From my morning walk in San Juan, PR - September 2009


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