Little Bill

It is Sunday morning. I am lying in my bed, bundled up under my big heavy covers. The sun threatens to shine through the red curtains and blind me, so I close my eyes and listen. To my left, a beautiful Yellow Cat begins purring the moment she notices I am awake. To my right, a black Phoebe shifts, her tail happily batting down on the mattress (and occasionally on my face.)

Still, I listen.

I listen to the wind, blowing through the bare branches in the backyard, rattling the glass in the windows. Pouring in little bits of frosty air in through the cracks where my window unit sits, reminding me to put it away for the season. I listen to the few birds that have remained. I listen to the few leaves that aren’t trapped under the bits of snow that remain staccato across the yard.

I listen to my own breathing; soft and steady.

I take two more deep breaths and I rise. Awake.