When the sprinklers come on in the morning, they ache and groan under the house, the whoosh of release comes later.
It seems, each morning, that the sky is black, then blue then gray and finally, white, through the slats of my bedroom shade. Between sleep and wake I wonder if this is true for everyone.
The girls next door have high voices that reach over the hedge. Their father pulls them down with his own low one.
The air-conditioner kicks on, and the sweat on my neck cools.
I know that when I go into the boys' bedrooms, one will smile at me and the other will growl.
My soft bathrobe of green apples hides what's underneath, ripe for the picking.
Coffee.
you are a poet. this is so rich. there is so much contained in this spare telling. good morning, dear elizabeth.
ReplyDeleteRipe for the picking, gorgeous. This is luscious. I learn so much from your words.
ReplyDeleteThe colors through my blinds are black then orange (the sun rises on that side of the house over the lake which I have the tiniest peek-a-boo view of) then grey then blue, thanks to the marine layer we often get here.
ReplyDeleteLove that you have one that smiles and one that growls - I do, too.
Ahh, coffee.
Sensuous!
ReplyDeleteWow! ... here on the east coast the colors are the same! Glad to hear you are up experiencing these, as I have also been lately. (normally I sleep thru these amazing daily transitions but maybe I'll look forward to it tomorrow)How wonderful that you are lucky enough to have a child that smiles in the morning. You, unlike me, must be a good mother and get your children enough sleep at night despite the husband and his preoccupation with the mistress... another thing that is common on the opposite coasts of America
ReplyDeleteone smiles and one growls :)
ReplyDeletemy sky is black until well into my first cuppa
i love your writing. it inspires me. xoxoxo
ReplyDeletethis is good stuff. no, AMAZING stuff. you know this, right? (and the light does that here, too...)
ReplyDelete