Noon Time Morning

You open your eyes and the first thing you see is your hands clasped together by your head resting on a white cotton pillowcase. You shudder a little as you feel the chill of the night that has settled on you while you slept. You tuck the sides of your blanket underneath of yourself rocking side to side until you’ve found the perfect morning blanket burrito. You decide that the warmth you’ve found feels nice, but you need to get up. You’ve slept in too long and the mailman has already made all his deliveries to three streets up by now. You throw off the hugs of your blankets, peel yourself off the mattress and practically fall out of bed as in your grogginess you forget that you’re short while your bed frame is not.

You look around your room and find a pair of black sweats on the floor. You slide them up your legs, angry about the chill that has taken your pants over as well, but you know in a few minutes your body will be happy with its temperature again. You straighten out your oversized tee and head to the bathroom. Pee, brush teeth, head downstairs. The sun is bright coming in the open windows. You see your one small dog resting on the back of the sofa pressed up against the window and in another corner of the room your medium sized dog is sprawled out on the carpet snoring. You step barefoot outside onto the front porch. The door squeaks as you open it in one long push and as the concrete freezes your toes you hear the screen door falling back into place behind you, whush, scurrr, slam. Down the three brick steps and along the walkway you go to the mailbox. Its black sides are still covered in the dew the morning produced. You put down the homemade wooden cardinal mail flag your dad made at your request years ago and open the metal mouth of the box. You pull out an assortment of papers- probably bills, probably ads.

You run back inside as you begin to lose feeling in your toes and toss the mail onto the long oval dining room table that sits grandly to the right of the entryway in the next room. You look back out the screen door and listen. Somewhere a cardinal is calling out and crickets line the front lawn creating a cacophony. Down the street yelling and laughter from the park bounce off the houses up the block and into your home. The sounds of ball games and parades enter your home the same way every holiday and Friday night in season.

You walk through your house and out onto the back porch. Your two pups have followed you this time. They run out into the fenced yard to do their morning business because your noon time morning is also their noon time morning.

Memory Monday is a weekly a.w.e prompt dedicated to creative nonfiction and learning from the past. If you participate please tag #awritersearth or #memorymonday so we can share our experiences and grow as a writing and reading community.

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