Our mornings do not vary, but they have varied from, say, a decade ago when I would depart bed in the dark around 6 a.m., leaving my child bride in place, sleeping. They say that as one ages, one needs less sleep, but I’ve gone in the other direction. Perhaps it’s just laziness. I’m in bed now till after 7, and we get up at the same time.
I go into the living room where I slip my feet into the Crocs that I always leave in the same spot the previous evening. I continue to the kitchen to take biscuits from the fridge and place them at the ready inside the mini-oven for a hour later.
I take grounds and filter from the coffeemaker which cranked up at 6:30. I put plates on the table. I pour a glass of water, and break off a piece of ready-made toast, the kind you don’t normally find above the Rio Bravo in supermarkets, or at least you didn’t decades ago. Maybe you do now with so many of my new paisanos lurking there.
Today, looking through the window above the kitchen sink, I saw a solitary bird, just sitting. He was on the Garden Patio roof. I walked into the living room to get the Canon, thinking he’ll be gone when I return, but he wasn’t. He was waiting for me.
I took his photo. It’s not a black-and-white shot. It’s color. That was the color at that early moment on this chilly, July day.