A replacement to alarm clock: annoying buzz of pre-programmed song on flattened radio called ipod. Large butter knife spreads raspberry jam into sky and preserves drip into the shadows of morning.
There are those days, which turn into weeks, then months, or more accurately described as years that are meant as lessons. Without the school desk or pencil case. There is no homework, but the lessons extend into the evening and through midnight dreaming.
This can also be defined as finding oneself.
Or: the act of living/ gathering selves into a cohesive whole.
Sky brightens, alerting birds to grind beaks together and howl their songs toward windows and tree tops. Grass glows from the spotlight above. Airplanes are visible again. And squirrels.
It is necessary to notice how it feels to breathe in a Monday. How different a Tuesday feels from Saturday or Thursday. Days are like lovers, all so different and yet, so often blurring into the other.