Sunday morning gossip

A fresh, warm bagel with salmon cream cheese and sun-warmed strawberries for breakfast started my day. I dawdled over movies and shopping at the farmer's market yesterday so I didn't get everything done I needed to do. I got up with good intentions, started the last loads of laundry, fixed some breakfast, checked email and unloaded the dishwasher. Lots to do. Lots to do.

At the top of my list is finishing a story I need to have done by tomorrow, find an article for the ham club newsletter for the front page, finish the newsletter and email it to the printer, finish two more review books, write the reviews and shoehorn in some operative reports. I think that about clears out my day. At least I have food in the fridge and a treat in the freezer I'm doing my best to leave until the sun burns the clouds to tattered ribbons and sends the dew and puddles steaming into the blue.

I left the windows open all night, all of the windows, and the air is fresh and cool. It must have rained. The birds woke me gossiping just. It sounded like all the birds in the neighborhood got into the debate. The crows joined in with razor-edged caws, taking as always the opposing side while the blue jays squawked with laughter. Cousins can be so cruel. Chickadees added pointed comments and the sparrows giggled from the shadows. It was a free-for-all no one could have slept through, not even Rip Van Winkle.

The dryer clicks and hums. The kitchen faucet drips . . . drips . . . drips. A flock of birds chatter as they roost momentarily in the trees, picking up gossip to pass along their route, asking about the best spots for worms and bugs, and in the distance traffic groans and shudders on the main streets, tires moaning and slashing down the damp, dark pavement while in my mind characters jostle for attention and ideas churn and fingers stumble over the keys, anxious to be turning pages. Everything around me is industry and motion as the last vestiges of Morpheus's influence tug at my eyelids and my body, urging a different position, something more relaxed and peaceful, taking advantage of the cool, moist air, urging me to let everything go and drift on the swells of dreams and tides of sleep. The sun bursts through the heavy lowering clouds for a bright brief moment and then sinks back into the deep softness with a yawn and sleeps.