Magic Morning

I opened for business at 5:18 a.m. today.
The window blind went up, revealing the magic
world that never changes and always changes.
Almost golden clouds, still and placid, suspended lightly
in the eastern sky, prepared to explode in color as
soon as the sun decided to climb over the mountain.

The large, white-bloomed oleander just outside my window,
barely moved in a very discreet breeze, the happy sun face
with three little bells attached at the bottom, smiled from
its place, suspended from an oleander branch.  Beyond
the face, two hummingbirds argued over the same
purple penstemon blossom, and the street was empty.

It was peaceful.

Soon, though, the gentle morning will be overwhelmed
by wave after wave of life’s necessities.  Dogs will scratch
and sniff, pull at their leashes, irritated that their owners
would stop for conversation.  Exercise walkers, shoulders
back, heads up, will stride into physical excellence.  A
woman on a three-wheeled cycle will come barreling around
the corner, her large black dog pulling her around the block.
Next the serious cyclists, helmets and tight fitting jerseys
atop $1,000 bikes, will come rolling down steep driveways
and be off to a 20-mile challenge.  And, finally, an
assortment of cars will roll out of garages and
putter off to places beyond this little world.

Morning is magic.

It comes to life the same way every day, but
no two days are exactly alike.  Looking through
the magic window is a challenge to spot the slight
variations, uniqueness among the sameness.
Perhaps that’s the key.  I fear the day when
the score card lists only sameness inning after inning,
the disappearance of difference.
No runs, no hits, no errors.
Grab a hotdog and go home.

The game is over.