Telling: Streams & Logs

Best Day Ever

small teeth

Sunday 8:29am
I am here and I forget but still I go because I am here and it is morning and here are my clothes laid out for me. I begin, this stretch of the first decline in which a farewell to night is spoken. Now it is Day. And at the pivot corner the church bells start in ringing. The air is almost chill on my skin. There are no stoopers now, but a trio of close-to-the-ground dogs barking at the end of their ropes. I can take it for anything, defiance or welcome. It's up to me. Small teeth and enthusiasm. I smile and tug the brim of my hat down lower. I am just moving to move through it. Are there dead resting here? I don't notice, tasting the difference between leaf shadows and telephone pole's. I'm back.