It is dark and still at 03:14 A.M. The thrumming of the AC has ceased, no longer needed during the cooler hours of the early morning. I doubt I will receive a second reprieve from the heat and humidity during the rest of the weekend.
It is peaceful at this time, not very much stirring to disturb the silence, just the occasional static croak from a hopeful amphibian, signaling for a mate.
Tea should be steeped and ready to sip, excuse me while I fetch it.
Nala is awake now; her hopeful yellow eyes follow me across the darkened living room, she wonders to herself, “Will he show kindliness, make an oblation, and feed me early?” Not likely, her silent adjuration is far less effective in the dark. It is not cruel; cats love regimentation and regulation, just try missing a feeding, and see what happens.
This little exercise in flash composition should take me to the dawn, the start of another day, a euphemism for having nothing to do, and far too much time in which to do it.
I started out with the premise of writing something around the words “Kafkaesque Kakistocracy” but I just could not weave it in, oh well, I am certain there will be ample opportunity to do so in the coming weeks and months.
Stay cool and hydrated out there, perhaps let the yard work go for a day or two, suffer on then.
There it is, a slight brightening over the tops of the trees, and in the immortal words of the artist formally known as Cat Stevens, “Morning has broken…”