Morning Observations

November blue light, of a dip in temperatures as rain speckles the glass panes of the bedroom windows, a percussion that stirs me from my sleep, the wind furiously whipping one moment, softly moaning the next. Even in the shadows of an early cloudstacked morning, the Japanese maple I look out upon, has lit itself in flames, a seasonal Phoenix, lush foliage and silvered-bark patinaed with lichen scales. Threads of silk, bejeweled with crystalline raindrops, adorn the outside of the window casement and brick facade. Some softly give and carry in the breeze with the fluidity of a song escaping my lips. I look each morning for the wolf spider, residing in the cavern of a cracked brick behind the shutter, this morning to ask in passing how he fared the unsettled night. With a laugh, I remind him of boundaries, and advise him to, “stay wild eight-legged child.” Coffee beckons to my bones, happy voices of children in chatter to my heart. I think we may get lost today, in an aging garden, amongst the height of trees and rush of waterfalls, the pages of beloved books, within the music about our heads, deep in thought…

E.A. O'Connell. November 2018