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.
Eternal seconds…
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.
unbuttoned or undone 
Je crois que les moucherons ne dansent que pour toi.
Le grand poète écrit en prose, et elle crée toujours la magie!
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Ben non, ils dansent pour tout le monde les moucherons!
Tu es gentil. Merci.
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Love It! The descriptions capture, so eloquently, the atmosphere and emotion, or lack of emotion, of the moment! Great job my friend…
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Thanks Suz. And we rock on!
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He is selective in his conversations, isn’t he? Excellent observation. Like we’re punished for loving gravity more. Some days he feels bad maybe? Fondles our ambiance with soft touches and healing light. But come summer, he’s all pissy, and shrieks down his madness with a shrill that melts the road and blanches everything to dead white. Bit of moody he is.
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‘fondles our ambiance… I like that!
Yes, he can get pissy…. But when he is at his charming best, he is so wonderful: warm, soothing, caring… turns a girl’s head I tell ya.;-)
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Indeed.
He’s being especially charming this morning. Getting ready to thank him by planting some aloe vera along the fence.
Cheers to you this fine morning. I hope your day finishes with a smile, my friend.
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But you woke up early to see this…
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Yes I did! Sunrises and sunsets seem to invite dreaming and reflexions.
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I don’t know how it happened that in my native German, the sun is a she and the moon is a he. Thinking the other way around produces a very different feeling.
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It sounds intriguing. Yes, of course, if the sun has a female voice, then some images and metaphors don’t work… More challenges for translators I should think!
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It creates an additional poetic effect because the pronouns always break my expectations.
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This is fascinating, another wrinkle in my understanding of imagination and creativity because it is your creativity and imagination that add the little something extra here with the help of a grammatical convention.
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this reminds of my early day today.
you capture the dawn mood so well and the attitude of the he
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The male mind is as much a mystery to me as the female mind is to some men, don’t let this little sunrise fool you! I observe a lot but don’t learn quite enough;-)
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To some men? I think it is to all men 😛
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I enjoyed this Em. It was playful with Apollo’s ego finding no purchase with his self indulgence, “settling on the upturned skirt of a cyclamen.” I really must start having my coffee outside, as soon as the ice and snow melts. I’m missing the fun, sipping my first brew in the dark quiet of the indoors on the much too early mornings. 🙂
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Glad you enjoyed that! No, we don’t have ice here this year. None the less I sit wrapped in a huge duvet coat, scarf and mittens on the terrace and watch the day begin. That’s my writing time. I show up everyday; sometimes the muse is right there with me, and at other times she can’t be bothered… Still I scratch the paper with my pen while the birds chat away looking for early worms. 🙂
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Sometimes I think that God doesn’t even watch the sunrise, Emm. He just flings the red ball toward the horizon and hopes for the best…, and then hits the “snooze” button on the alarm. No magic involved at all ! Ha! …. 🙂 Hugs !
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Another exquisite moment within your fingertips – we are held in one hand as you sculpt the morning for us, coffee in the other. Lovely.
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