Bleak

This morning is not really a morning, rather one of those days that gets it backward and goes to sleep first instead of waking up. See, by night time it will be bright and just beginning to warm.
Won't it?
it won't?
From 75 to 40 overnight is not fair.
Yesterday I was walking in the wind and sun and trees but I remember now the woods knew today was coming, trying to tell me in that silence after a leaf fell. I was standing out an hour ago wrapped in my blanket standing on the wet concrete in my bare feet. I felt clearly and solemn that I was seven, still in my PJ's looking at the grey sky.
Noiseless rain heavy rain cold rain. My hair is a mess and my clothes unchanged, a weak tantrum but a tantrum nonetheless, whatever, I'm not going to wake up. I am going sweep every thing off the piano the light the pictures everything, and open the top and open the cover and unscrew and open the base, and play and play and play with nothing except the Piano and nothing between the sound and me. I might well spend the day trying to untie myself from the day.

It may be time to shut down this place.

*
Nothing here to fear I'm just sitting
around being foolish
when there is work to be done
Just a hang-up call
and the quiet breathing
of our Persian we call
Cajun on a Wednesday

so we go from year to year

Tori Amos