Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Nanowrimo - Day 10 - The First Third

It was early.  Much too early.  The cat wasn’t even awake yet.  If fact he wasn’t even on the bed, which was weird because a few nights ago he had been sleeping curled around her neck.

She tried for an hour and a half to fall back to sleep, but her mind (manic mind?) wouldn’t let her.  Reluctantly she got up, sneering at the clock that read 6:23, and poked around for her slippers.
She remembered they were wet from her foray onto the porch yesterday so she pulled on some socks (hand-knit, of course) and headed to the kitchen. 

She put the coffee on, and put a blueberry scone into the toaster oven.  She realized she was ravenous.  Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.  And what was with all the blueberry food this week?  She thought she had heard something about blueberries and anti-oxidants.  She wasn’t really sure what anti-oxidants were good for, but she trusted the ‘they’ who claimed it was so. The pink and grey pill went down with the vitamins. 

Outside the kitchen window dawn was breaking.  Dawn was breaking.  Those words reminded her of a song her daughter used to sing.  What was it called? Slide?  She would have to Google that later.

The kitchen faced east and the rising sun was back-lighting the massive cedar boughs.  The sky was purple and pink, the sun not yet visible over the mountains.  She could see her reflection in the window. Sometimes when she caught herself in a mirror, or reflection, she would wonder who that old woman was.  She often joked that she still felt nineteen.  The outside didn’t seem to jive with the inside.

She looked past her reflection (which clearly wasn’t nineteen) to watch the sky change from blue to yellow to white.  It looked cold outside.  The thermometer read two degrees and the weather report on the radio had said there had been frost last night. She hoped it would be another sunny day.  Sunny days help. 

The coffee tasted bitter this morning, and she ate the scone quickly without really tasting it.  The butter was still salty on her lips. 

6:57:  What was she going to do?

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