Jeremiah's School of Levitation

I've missed a couple of these due to not-being-myself-ness caused by various stages of employment and, well, not-being-able-to-get-up-in-the-morning issues. It is only fitting that the word is "morning" this week. What's even weirder is that the amazing Mona came up with the word while channelling Frank Sinatra. Now, last week's word was "pennies" and I had the idea of doing a mock audio duet with Frankie singing "Pennies From Heaven", but I never did. Lo and behold, Frankie comes to the surface anyway to provide this week's word (insert Twilight Zone music here).

So, anyway, here's my bit, just a little musing on a morning:

This morning, the sun still came up. The crinkly, cool edge of fall bent the horizon this way and that, changing how the wind falls and how the morning feels upon your skin, how the cool is now a serious cool, not the playful, relieving cool of a summer morning after a little summer night rain, and not like the blissful cool of an evening summer wind rolling in over the northwest Pacific waves, making you doubt that short-sleeved shirt you wore, but yet, stopping it's journey to your bones just underneath your skin, making you shudder in the hint of passing cold, in the lightning flash of something that might have happened, if they sky wasn't so in love with you.

This morning, I thought of a new place to work, a place that will be strange to me for several mornings in a row. A place where the faces will have to burn new memories in my head, where I'll have to play personality tag until each of us has decided who's the bigger IT and who is the one doing the entertaining, and who is the one being entertained, or who is the one doing the aggravating, and who is the one aggravated. So much morning energy spent at the public leaning post called the coffee machine, wrestling with muted opinions or casual pleasantries, all prerequisites to the arguments and judgments in our future. A day will come when we won't see each other ever again, and you ask if all those morning conversations were just wasted words, all those connections and head-thrown-back-laughs, all those opinions and debates, all of them just noisy rain that keeps you awake in the morning.

Morning, though, is all we have. It is our white-gloved doorman to the day. If the night was rough, our morning doorman is too, his scraggly beard poking our eyes, making us curse our awakening. If our night was peaceful, maybe on the cusp of lovemaking, our morning doorman is gentle, pulls open the night for us to pass into the day, and even may rest a white-gloved hand on our shoulders as we stroll to the floor and smell the sunrise.

Morning is all we have to insure us that the night was just a dream. Morning is all we have to welcome us to another chance to fix things. Morning is all we have, good or bad, to say to us, "Yes, you're still here. And, you're still welcome here." Good Morning.

Ohhhhh...this is one of my favorite posts you've ever done! You got it, man, you got it all!

I'm especially enamoured of this line: "if they sky wasn't so in love with you". I want to get that in tattoo form.

I'm speechless at your ability to put words together - not to mention, sporting a little envy.

"pulls open the night for us" - the ebb and flow of your words, the utter beauty of their combinations, the way they slip beside each other, sidling next to other great thoughts, it wells up the poetry in my mind and lilts the harmony of language into my ear. You possess an eloquent talent.

Oh that stinks!




I'm SO jealous, well done.

Subadoo, Maggie, and TG: Thank you.

Mona: I meant to say "the", but "they" does ring better, don't it? And, if I was speaking, I would have said "they" for effect.

Emma: Oh, you know how to make a writer gasp!