It is 6:00 and I am at the airport in Minneapolis.
The concourse is teeming with people, travelers.
I am flying to New York to see my friend and watch the Twins battle the Yankees.
There is reggae playing at a bar I am sitting at.
The bar is closed.
I was the first to take a seat here, and now the number of people has multiplied.
A cooked poked his head out from the kitchen, he looked like he is wondering what we are all doing sitting here.
He looked a little nervous, like he is wondering how the day will begin, starting with a full house.
I wonder if it is normal, or if my precipitous seating brought about the wave.
My lady tells me about her dreams
Playing string with Kitty, pouncing
The smell of coffee fills the house
It is dark morning, dressing, typing
I am listening, chatting with them
In the hour before sunrise
There is traffic on Bryant
The windows are open
The sound of tires
Rolling on the pavement
Cars and trucks and busses
A plane flying overhead
Preparing for touchdown
Kitty is licking her white paw
Cleaning her tawny head
The morning sun is streaming in through my kitchen window
Reflecting off a stack of boxes against my book case
The morning sun is bright, and flashing
The day promises to be sunny hot
There is a for sign in the yard next to the sidewalk
It says for sale
I anticipate the footfall of strangers
Walking through my domicile
There are transition coming, I can see them
My cat is sleeping blissfully