The best time to write, to tap into my heart happens early in the mornings just before human activity emerges.
Darkness pierced by yellow street lamps dissolves into a humid gray as the sounds from flowing rain waters confirms the summer storms had lashed out during REM sleep.
It was not within my imagination during a cold nightmare that lightning cracked and thunder shook just beyond my windows.
There is a calmness from watching moisture drip from the shadows of swaying oak tree limbs and palms as the sun’s pure white rays push away the gray to reveal the downtown landscape.
I am alone but surrounded by others. The streets look almost empty.
My black mask with a charcoal filter hangs on my front door nob as a constant reminder that something unseen lurks.
I am trying to find my self-confidence. My sense of purpose and meaning. I feel lost.
If you strip away the non-sense, we are all vulnerable souls. We are all afraid to get bitten.
I suspect I am not alone expressing that I am not as strong as I might attempt to act.
Fear, loneliness, isolation, and a lack of patience permeate my mind and they have all come out of hiding.
I try not to go numb.
I miss a simple hug between friends. Wordless feelings between bodies that life will workout and things will be okay.
An early morning innocent snuggle cocooned under bed sheets warmed with trust and safety.
I gaze out my windows; the sunshine splashes as birds communicate. “Where have all the humans gone this Monday morning?”
I take in a deep breath and then drain my lungs. I drink the black coffee.
My emotions stir.
I decide to be productive; I focus my mind.
Perhaps I’ll take a shower.
Perhaps I’ll walk to the grocery store later in the day?
Perhaps I’ll go for a lengthy bike ride later in the day and accept the intense heat?
I nod, I drink coffee. I’ll remember to wear my mask.
All I know, it’s another day, and I am alive to accept whatever happens.