Smudged dawn behind rain clouds.
A raven worrying an unseen object on the lawn.
Slant and Desolation Angels displaced on my bookshelf as if they were half the night fighting one another for space.
Making toast but remembering those Sunday breakfasts when she took me over to Mae’s.
Bike tires hissing along damp pavement.
That dream where I’m writing with a laptop on a Washington State ferry.
Watching X-Files with my Scully on the old B&W we rescued from the guts of a Bellevue dumpster.
The smell of coffee.
Some old person down the hall at work this morning playing the Singles soundtrack for no apparent reason.
Nostalgia for the 90’s, unbidden.
But really, I do know better.
My Seattle boy of coffee and computers.
My Rochester girl of lilacs and Asian dreams.
Walking the spine of a mountain with ocean on one side and mountains crowding the other.
Sitting with my backbone against a rock ledge at 9,500 feet, shivering, and then…
…the sun, swaddled by Pacific-laden rain clouds, finally peeks out at the world with all the radiance of a newborn babe.
Here in the bosom of my beautiful, beloved, and welcoming university I sip from the cup of the global Starbucks diaspora.
Something on this dampest of July mornings tells me it’s time for that road trip.
Yeah, Frodo, the mountains are calling.