July: good morning

In the calm of the late morning she collects herself.

Both the dogs have calmed from the morning ritual of coming in and out of the house, they’ve played, they’ve eaten.

The morning is strangely grey for a July. And quiet.

Only a lawn mower is present in the distance as a car turns the corner. 

It feels different.

Summer this year has come to make me hot and bothered. Not in the way I prefer. 

I’ve been squashed into a dryer and put on high. I’m thrown around and around and sometimes it's fun. Mostly, I’m suffocating because I am indeed trapped inside a loud, hot death trap and can’t get out.

As the world goes sideways, I realign my head so as to not tilt with it. 

Not everything is bad. 

And still, it's pretty severe and not good. 

I used to look at black and white pictures of folks in the 1930’s during the depression wondering if they knew that they were part of history. 

Now, I think they knew. 

So much has happened and is happening and will happen.

It’s too much sometimes. And still in other parts of the world, what we are dealing with is a pimple on the face of their everyday existence and ongoing history of war. 

This small moment of absolute quiet is a delicacy and I don’t devour it lightly. It’s rich.

The sun is slowly peaking through and plans start to build in my head. The dogs have already started to play again, getting rowdy, and bumping into furniture. 

A good sign the day is ready for me.

It was a good morning.