Sunday, August 17, 2025, 55.5*, 85% RH 0625
Coffee cools in sunshine cup. Soleil almost as tall as my monitor, the next slat in the blinds. A voice barely heard. Once. Perhaps the crow was flying to other places voice transposed by wing beats. Zayne stopped, looked toward the stream. To have a dog’s eyes for a day, to see what they see. I used to sit on the ground next to them thinking eye level would grant me entrance into their world.
No dew this morning. No traffic. The three sleep. I drink from the sunshine cup.
Sometimes the music of morning is simple rhythm.
Art: LJ Austin “Escape”
