12.9.16 We all awaken

We all awaken, get out of our beds, and begin on our days. Here, I stumble from the shower, pull on clothes, and veer out the door into the cold awaiting car, to go grab some carrots and apples and cabbage for the juicing. 

Far down the street, the next-door neighbors have left for work, his kid brother I imagine is on the school bus. The Trump signs taken down. 

Further down the street, the small collie is out on the rope, The barricades to the driveway up. When they come home, they move things and drive through the backyard. 

Further down, the neighbor has their golf course out-front, with Santa Claus sitting in it, and all sorts of decorations up. 

I smile to myself, remembering when I was younger and snotty, judgmental. Sometimes when we're here long enough, all that snotty stuff dissolves into simple observation. Or even delight, and how different people are moved to do different things.

The neighbor with the beautiful enormous front ramp, that was covered with remarkable flowers and decorations all summer, has of course clean things up. Every day you see a plume of smoke from his wood-burning stove inching up through the skies. Sometimes when I drive by, I see him practicing walking on his brand-new prosthetic leg. 

Further down the road with the hustle and bustle of the day, there are so many cars. But having once commuted from Westchester County, New York,to Yonkers every day, I know. I know this is nothing here. 

The early-morning clouds have cleared out for the most part, except high on the horizon. Here, we are in a valley, and wherever you look, there are hills or small mountains surrounding.
By now, the fan in the car is pushing warm air toward me, my wet head not so chilled. And the sun shines out, low in the sky, glaring, with its warmth. It's light. It's life.

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