“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


after the storms, always the sun

the blues fall away.  

awake early this morning in the still darkness, the 5:30 train passing in the distance, the sound of nothing else heavy in the room, that nothing a warm comfort across my heart.  skye cat lay deep asleep against my belly, nestled in blankets, no purring, just sleep; soft, soft, her rhythm becoming mine, just nothing but us and morning in the room, last night's full moon long gone from the windows.  just darkness and morning and nothing but our breathing.  thou art everywhere but i worship thee here.

at last up, lamps flicked on, those red red birthday roses glowing with their own inner light, and we settle on the couch, this cat and i, my mother's cat, she will never be mine, and we begin a slow movement into a new day.  the old fashioned heater kicks on; it has real flames and makes a soft muffled sound of reassurance, more warmth, more comfort, and i turn on the tv, as always leaving the sound off.

the night moves toward day and suddenly the darkness is less; fallen leaves are visible on the ground and i am up to raise the blinds, to watch the full of morning fall on the street.  the ginkgo across the street has gone quite pale, almost to gold, we are almost there, and the catawba has gone quite naked, her leaves scattered across the street and lawns and into the creek.  there is no wind, not a breeze, not a stirring of grass, it is cool and still and not a car has passed, no student yet headed for another friday, no backpacks passing, no shuffling of feet, not yet, but if you type it, it will come, and there is the first car of the day.

lighter still, more day than night, one chirp from a bird, slowly slowly this day comes.  the bark of a dog, my upstairs neighbor moving about, the comforting sound of her feet on the wood overhead; i track her path in my head exactly as i followed the 5:30 train earlier.  i know the places they go.

and finally, morning.  the first student passes.  the sun has not yet climbed high enough to toss yellow rays across the yard, but soon, soon.

it is autumn.  the shadows gather strength, are more shadows than shade.  the blues fade away, fall into the memory of summer.  as always, i will find their hiding places.



  1. Beautifully written, like watching an Edward Hopper painting as it slowly comes alive.

  2. beautiful, as always. i love the early mornings, and would love to hear a train again. they took out our tracks years and years ago and now it is a paved path for winter snowmobiles, the sounds of..NOT enjoyable. a train is much more comforting...
    winter is coming. we had full ground cover of snow this morning. now melted, but it was here. that means the loud whine of the snowmobiles...soon.

  3. i was about to say i want to be there, but then i realized i was there. you made me see it, hear it, feel the warmth of that heater.

    if you type it, it will come...yes. you just keep typing.

    that is a photo filled with soul.

  4. Shadows--yes I must find some today...
    And it's assuring to know that I'm not the only person who prefers a television without sound.

  5. a student of awareness is a student of wisdom.

    you be wise, so very wise.

    you see it all. beautifully.


  6. Don't you love that first bird in the morning? The one that breaks the silence with her beautiful song?


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