Beep... beep...beep
Sleep
Beep...beep...beep
Sleep
Beep...beep...
Rush, rush, rush. Slippers, robe, bathroom, coffee, cat, fish, plant light, lunch, books, planner, binder, backpack, keys, phone, wallet, jacket, shoes, lights
Slam!
Repeat daily in the a.m.
Not on foggy days though.
I savor the time between engagements. The air softens. I can't help but be lulled, slow my walk, breath it in, let it go, stroll.
It lightens my load, as if the air itself is acknowledging my life is overcrowded.
It forces me, once in a while, to linger and smell it instead of just using it.
It says daydream, dolly. You're moving too fast. You're missing it all.
It slows the reminder of time ringing through the air every quarter hour.
By the time it reaches me today, all that's left is a faint whisper...you're late. But I'm busy watching the river, like a frantic mother, trying to suck the steam back in , wodering why her babies would want to leave her. She's doing her best to hold on. Her body swirls and twists and turns over itself. He fingers reach far up the crumbling walls in search of her kin. She's singing a long call for the sun.
The concrete's been licked. It's shining now in all it's glory, begging attention dressed in blues, blacks and grays over yellows and oranges with red to accent set in white like the rest of us.
The whole city blinks in rhythm. Light dodges the droplets to reach the concrete. There it dances, swirling and shining the colors. Blue turns to turquoise. Gray claims it's silver and red says it's ruby. Yellow and orange argue over gold, claiming each other as rust.
Damp, I open the door. My lungs are filled with a burst plain air, the dry, sterile kind that doesn't care if I just use it or not.
I walk off the rug, heading down the corridor.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.