Morning Ramblings

The all-too-familiar alarm interjects its loud ringing into my warm slumbers, Tone 9 from my cheap, Wal Mart cell phone, the default alarm because I'm too lazy at 11 pm to change it. As always, my lighter sleeping sister throws her arm out to the red phone button, then rolls over and closes her eyes again. I stretch and then yank my worn quilt up to my chin. Even in August, a Floridian in Maryland can feel the weather differences.

Ah, that's better. Cozy and warm. I could just close my eyes for a minute...

Forcefully, I roll over and prop my chin up on the cold headboard, looking out the window in a half-hearted attempt to stay awake. As the pine trees wave their porcupine fingers at me, I smile; those pines lining the fence are a little bit of North Florida to greet me in the morning and shade me in the afternoon. I love to watch the trees and think of the sap pumping through their veins while the blood pumps through mine. They are so alive, the trees, unmovable and still as they seem.

My eyes then flit down to the little fish pond, where the stone cherub still soaks his feet after Irene shoved him from his station on the bank.

Winston? Henry? Other little, unnamed guy we just discovered? Humph... Too early for frogs and toads to take a swim, I guess.


The colors and textures are so vibrant in that little area, bursting in hues of green, purple and white: fuzzy petunias, wispy canary grass, fragrant lavender, pearly vincas, and other unknown lovelies. Flowers in the morning are unlike flowers at any other time. Surviving the chills and darkness of night, they glisten in the sun arrayed in dewdrop diamonds. But this morning, I catch a glimpse of something unnaturally yellow, reminiscent of a sharpie highlighter, gracing the flower bed. It's Mr. and Mrs. Goldfinch. They're shy little creatures, so keep still and hushed -- at the first sound those little winged friends are off to find more private quarters.

Looks like an intruder is already coming closer. A coal black, from beak to toe, bird hops from round stone to round stone. Quickly, the finches scurry off, leaving the two blackbirds to explore the pond and surrounding area. One pecks at the canary grass, another flits about the deck. The crickets shout their monotonous tunes and crescendo all at once.

I roll back over and stand, not able to spectate any longer. Watching the beautiful world from a two story window is just not enough. Something so alive must be felt, must be joined.

Good morning, world.