There’s a certain type of beauty to the morning, a certain sense of gratefulness as the world peels open its crusted eyes. While the continents un-tuck themselves from oceanic blankets, the continents mumble, Thank God we’re alive. Thank God we’re breathing. Africa bangs on the head of a drum– Antarctica shivers and Australia stretches its arms across the Pacific. The world is conscious. The world is awake. The world is alive.

It is 78 degrees. The air is lukewarm. As an observer, I am an onlooker with the intent to absorb. There is a reason for all of this—for the metal chair resting beneath my thighs, for the squirrel staring at me through the leaves, for the fly hovering over my keyboard intently. I am soaking in the sounds of half-hearted jazz from the intercom and the swelling and retreating sounds of the water fountain—I am listening to trucks hobble down the street and to birds speak to one another across palm trees. I am in the middle of it all; there are eyes etched in the back of my head and I am gazing out into the world in 360 degrees.

There is a Hispanic woman standing behind a glass window. She is out of place inside the luxury furniture store; she stares out at the fountain beyond me, shifting her feet. Slowly, methodically, she wipes away invisible fingerprints, circling a white rag on the glass in bubbly motions. She gazes beyond the window into the bustling morning, spinning the rag in circular movements. But there is a flash in her eyes– I can tell she envisions that, instead of the rag, the world spins ‘round her hands, delicately gliding along her fingernails.

It is early; it is beautiful. It is overcast; it is elegant. I am in love with the way the air smells of chlorine and ice cream. I am in love with the way I can view the world behind me; I am invisible. I am unknown. I am a mystery.

I don’t know why I keep waiting for something spectacular to happen. Do we all do this? Sit and watch and wonder? The train is here. The train is loud. The train is not elegant. It is blasting and reverberating; it is distressful; it is anxious. The tracks are terrified. The streets tremble and the glass window shudders.

I watch as the woman in the furniture store blinks and turns away.

©2BorNot2B