Sunday, August 28, 2016


There's something good to be said for trying to sleep through neck pain all night, waking up a half dozen times, then trying to go back to sleep again, which is this: that by about 4 am or so, one is so tired of sleeping, so to speak, that he simply gives up, gets up, and starts his day. The act of surrender, though much maligned, contains its own quality of renewal. The sky is still dark at 4 in the morning, yet certain of the world's creatures are already whispering about something to come. The first of the birds prophesy. The last of the night bugs crawl into their holes. The last mouse takes his final open stroll through the tufts of grass. By and by, the chickens begin to loudly cackle and then at 5 o'clock sharp comes the doleful wailing of the Muslim call to prayer. Man speaks his first official words. Let us pray. Already, I have made coffee and boiled an egg and toasted a slice of bread. I am well on my way while the sunrise is yet a matter of faith. I feel strangely young again, a young man with an old neck, about to shower, shave, splash on cologne, don suit and tie and head off to work. There are thousands of us, heading out to set the world into motion even as the sky finally blinks one eye and peers grayly upon creation. Within another half hour, it will gaze brilliantly bluely over all and bless every stone, and blade of grass, and body of water, and budding flower, and dusty road, and sandy beach, and every four-legged creature, and every two-legged creature, and everything in all creation that flies above or swims below or walks the way of this singular event otherwise known as August 27th, 2016.

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