I am up before the sun.
Hell, before the day even thought of getting up and letting the moon go!
Before 5 am, my eyes opened and I could not banish the mindless chatter in the dark recesses of my room or drown it in the imagined gurgle of a fountain… So I got up.
Coffee is brewing.
The sky, cloudless but hazy, lightens up or perhaps darkens in his daytime shade of blue in the west as it plays with peach tones in the east.
A juvenile magpie sits quite still on the neighbor’s satellite dish, listening for the right call.
In the absence of wind and human noises, the Med’s rumbles crawl up the hill, muffled, benign… a dreamer’s song.
And I wait for the sunrise to reach past the tile roof across the way, to peer through the dark, flat silhouette of eucalyptus…
The coffee cup warms my fingers. The steam tickles my nose.
Gold drips on the cedar’s fuzzy branches.
A gull rides a shallow thermal then drifts towards boats waiting to sail away.
In between two branches and a blink, the sun catches my eye but then hides again behind a succession of trunks, chimneys, tiles… Hah! Anything and everything!
He does not want to talk today. Not to me, anyway.
But he chats with the oaks and the pines, the pepper tree and palm.
He exchanges wisecracks with a passing jay, listens with care to a new song bird tell of her travels, then decides to tease me with a narrow strip of sunshine across my arm.
It’s a flashlight beam of cosmic proportions, of temporary enlightenment, just long enough to say hello-goodbye, as he settles on the upturned skirt of a cyclamen, changing its texture and color with a light brush.
Dreamed worlds unfold and disappear as quickly as they came into focus.
“For this I showed up this morning”, he says as he lights up the oleander tops and tiny hair moss on the garden’s far wall. “It’s not about you.”
“It never is”, I shoot back with a shrug.
And I leave him to do his thing as I go back for a cup of coffee.
When I come back, I’ll watch gnats dance.