Morning comes early. I wake disoriented, as usual, my dreams crashing and curdling, leaving me feeling like my waking life is only the afterimage of some bright light. I slap the alarm silent, try to gather myself. A mental recitation: there is the sunlight, here is my pillow, this is what's real. Stumble to the bathroom, stumble to the coffee. But today bursts into being before I am prepared: the phone rings, the programs need to be finished and to the printer, the tshirts need to be delivered to the cafe for selling, the lights need to be set, the panels hung, a paper written for class today.


I find myself instead on my porch in a cold breeze, watching the grey cat give herself a bath. Oh for a morning like hers.