It’s cold in the morning in his room making it hard to get out of bed but sitting by the window looking out at the morning developing makes him more awake there is a draft from the window on the right side of his body cold air on his forearm and knee yet it draws him to stare out the window and look at the wedge of sunlight that is cast over the row of rooftops and the tree bare cold and sleeping the lichen or moss growing on the branches and trunks a mint pastel wrapped around gray dusty bark. A hummingbird lands on the branches then darts to look around the tree for breakfast then leans and banks away to begin its day he hears the garbage trucks moving in the distance gears and motors turning as the cast away filth from the town is churned and compressed and he pictures the young man running the truck is outside breath steaming into a cloud around his beanie capped head he pulls the lever with a gloved hand and watches the truck chomp down on it’s breakfast he started the day cold blowing warm body air into his hands and rubbing them together but by now he has warmed up and the cold air on his neck and face feels good as he begins to sweat underneath his jacket and boots and his day is half over as he sees the men and women of the town emerging from their houses still bleary eyed and cold and still fighting the urge to go back inside the heat of the home and maybe lie under the still warm covers for a few more minutes or to sit back down at the table and pour another cup of coffee while they finish the article or chapter that they can never get through but they are outside and getting in the icebox car with frost and condensation encasing it and starting the engine and waiting for it to warm. The garbage man sees it and remembers the sensation but it seems so distant now as if it may have been last week as soon as it was this morning because it is the same everyday and so in repetition the memories combine and fade and so too will the people of the morning forget about that yearning by the time they have commuted and are sitting at their desks reviewing the daily requests for tasks that could be done by someone else and the garbage man feels a split in himself; happy that his work is straightforward in that at the start of the day his task is clear and it will be done but as he sees the parents of the morning walking out the door with their children asking them questions and giving advice and shouting the last reminder as the child begins to pedal away he feels a bite of panic that his children leave unprepared and he wishes he could be there to put a hand on their shoulder Esmeralda under his left and Martin at his right as they walk out the door. Metal meets metal and the truck hisses off pressure as the garbage man’s body twitches to action and he places the empty bins back on the curb and pivots on his heel to get back in the truck and the man in his room must turn to get dressed and pour coffee or he will be late.
This is in response to the blogging 101 prompt to write a post for my target audience, or as I see it, a post that represents why I want to blog. I sat down to write a ten minute stream of consciousness and this is what came out. Well, pretty much. I have read through it and made slight edits, and in the program where I wrote it I made a note of where I was when the ten minute timer went off. I wrote a little more to wrap it up. As far as the blog goes, the posts will probably be somewhere between raw and polished. I need to work on my editing skills just as much as my first-draft writing, so I won’t simply copy-paste.
Oh and it feels good to be back writing. Like runners after winter, getting a little stretch in their legs and smiling at the sensation. Likewise, I know that I can’t push it too hard just yet. I have to be methodical in getting back into shape.