Eight in the morning, rising to the seventy-nine degrees of sultry that has consumed the room the morning after the storm and all is calm except the trees whipping around their autumn leaves dancing, falling, avoiding eye contact with those around me for fear I might fracture before long the shower never felt so pleasant, dragging the negative vibes, dusting cantankerous from my bones carrying me to a state of tranquil my mind at ease, I am approachable crimson, green, and gold outside my window flush against a charcoal sky blonde and beautiful, sanguine eyes bounce out the door the day is young and I feel alive.
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