The surrealism of not
another car in sight.
Sunrise nowhere on the
horizon as of yet,
enabling you to notice,
there are undulations and
subtleties, with the glow of the street lights
like a nightlight, almost soothing.
Except not, because the blinking
yellow caution traffic lights are almost
blinding at this hour.

Certain of life’s mysteries, ones
briefly wondered about in
the past week, but no time to ponder them,
start to float to the top
of your consciousness.
Such as, why do cockatiels like to
eat cello rosin? A harkening to
their origins in the Australian wild?

What is it about the German word
for French fries, pommes, that makes
you hit repeat on the pronunciation button,
in Google, and repeat it over and over
again, but you can’t ever
pronounce it exactly right.

Left onto Frost Woods.
No light pollution here.
The leaves on the road swirl as if they are
A flock of birds taking off from the ground.
So much energy and early
Morning productivity.

Now pulling into the driveway.
The wind is howling.
But the large silver maple in back is
Barely moving.
You came to an understanding with this tree.
Last summer.
As Jung said, sometimes a tree tells you more
Than can be read in books.

You enter the house.
Fall back asleep almost immediately.

Filed under: Anita's PostsMonona

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