Here in Atlanta, we’ve gone straight from weather so hot you’ve got the windows shut… to weather so cool you’ve got the windows shut. No time to lollygag around with Indian Summer these days: it’s a busy busy world and we went straight from the dog days of summer to … well, I was going to say “to thinking about hot apple cider” but it’s not THAT cool yet (and may never be, if the smell of hot apple juice makes you gag).
Spring in Georgia is confectionary: all meringue peaks of white blossoms and excess, it breaks your heart with its beauty. I’m a sucker for it and because of that I’ve never really considered myself a “fall” person.
But this morning it was pitch black dark at seven, and the down comforter was like a benediction laid across the bed. The little family sleeping, in fact APPLYING itself to sleep wholeheartedly. You could practically hear their exhalations of breath: Big Bear, Little Bear and Tiny Bear (who I suspect has inherited her father’s tendency to allergies and was snorting pretty noisily).
Me, on the other hand — entirely wide awake through the machinations of the intersection of my past life and my present one. One second I was dreaming that I was in a seminar room attached to the PCL Library at UT taking part in a creative writing workshop with a Very Famous Writer who suddenly turned to me and asked me to go get him some donuts, which apparently could be purchased from a downstairs vending machine. The next second, I’m wide awake, staring at the clock which says 7:05, bang in the middle of the split second mental inventory that goes like this: o woe we’re late for school, late for… o, it’s saturday ok not so bad, but o crap there’s that workday at the preschool at 9:00 and i’ve gotta go pick up the donuts!
But then at least I roused myself to realize picking up donuts is a couple of hours away, everybody else in the house is still asleep and if I think fast I might be able to get in a solitary cup of coffee.
This early, the shadow of leaves cast by streetlight against the curtain of our front window makes a scrim like thai shadow puppets. As I’ve sat here, rosy dawn’s begun to seep across the sky.
And oh, my God: that coffee. That quiet. All is right with the world.
Enjoy your weekend.
Some lovely writing there, morning girl.
Ah, yes… the stolen weekend morning coffee. There’s nothing quite like it; the sense of getting away with something, and the sheer luxury.
my past life dreams seem to always be of waiting tables. Glad you at least got to be writing in yours.
Don’t forget to set your clocks back.
My morning coffee means so much to me that even if I have to set my alarm early (early!) for it, I will do it. As I sip, I sit out on my lanai and stare out the window to ready myself for the day.
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