The elusive commodity, also known as sleep finds me up before sunrise. A cold front blew through yesterday, dropping the temperature from 82F to 39F or 27.78 C to 3.9C.
Steam from the coffee warms my nose as I hold the cup between my hands. Walking outside, even the birds are still nestled in their homes. Not one is greeting me this morning.
No cars are on the streets, no planes in the air, and for a moment I imagine what our ancestors of not that long ago might have experienced on this very piece of ground.
My mind carries me back to when the streets were fields; trees might have lined them along with open streams that flowed from the lake, not too far north of here.
The tall grasses and wildflowers would have dew on them, and my ankles most certainly would have been damp from my morning journey back in time. Perhaps I might have been ‘fetching’ some water or maybe milking a cow.
Back in my office, I open the window to let in the morning air, in spite of the artificial warmth from the night before. Steam still rises from my cup, as the visions of yesterday vanish with the coo from the dove, announcing that the sun is on the rise.
What will this day bring?
Silence from the world we live in is golden but, I am ever mindful of why it is, as it is. The world has changed, and it is no longer one that I recognize. I know of, or knew many that are no longer with us as the unseen marauders’ march across the landscape, sending many into whatever fate awaits them. Their well-fought battle becomes numbers instead of people, and that disgusts me. Those pompous talking heads will assign blame, not on the enemy, or those that released it upon the world but, on an army shooting blindly into the night, in hopes that some of the bullets find their mark.
The bell still tolls, and in the silence, I pause to think, what if?
E-mails from clients have all but stopped, and the phone which I have this love-hate relationship with is eerily silent. From the ticking clock on the wall, and the sounds of my fingers dancing on the keyboard; it is only my thoughts of you, the readers of this epistle, that warm my heart.
A chill encircles my ankles. Are they still damp from the morning dew of yesterday, or is it perhaps a reminder that I should probably close the window, and stay safe nestled in my self-made prison?
Sounds from a mechanical beast roar outside as the first shafts of sunlight filter inside, playing hopscotch on the well-worn tombs, waiting on me to awaken them.
More rumbling from a distant silver bird, hearken to a world that just maybe, might also be trying to survive the invisible assailants.
Stay Safe my friends.
Much Love -TW