Morning

The robin has a squeaky voice.  Sings before 4 am now.  I finally looked out, was up half the night anyway, (not sure why) but had opened one blind so that I could look at the stars.  Read through the rest of the parent section of the Sotomayor book.  When I looked to see if I could find the robin, I saw its outline at the apex of the roof, silhouetted against the lightening sky.  Palest of yellows and greens, puffy orange-pink clouds in the foreground.  The robin flew, I fell back asleep for a while.  Dreamt I was trying to shout for my mother to say something about my life, but couldn't get much sound out.  When I re-awoke, the sun had already risen, a different form of cloud filled my view, gauzy and stretched like arms reaching out to each other.

Begin the daily rituals that move us from one hour to the next.  Guess I'm ready for more change.

Taken by surprise by how little disappointment I feel.  Space for new to enter.