The coffee maker still gurgles after nearly an after hour. A steady electric hum drowns out the chorus of birdsongs, save one.
Gray clouds swallow the sky. The rain triggers an ache across my eyebrows, and exacerbates the stiffness in every joint from knees to shoulders.
All before a day that won’t end for at least fourteen hours. Leaving me precious little time before another — the one with the formal observation.
I would rather just go back to bed
a spade shovel left beside
a dying pine
more by FRANK J. TASSONE