I want to tell you about the morning. Our patio faces south, and if I sit on the west side, by the rail, the sun hits my face when it comes over the building beside our house first, then over the wall of our patio. Sitting here lets me sit my coffee on the low part of the wall, and let’s me see the sun come over the top of the buildings. The city doesn’t wake up early, even though that is the time to do anything that requires exertion, including walking to the market for the necessary things for today’s lunch. The air is cool, and there is no breeze. The early morning sounds increase in volume, and change in source so gradually that you might not notice the differences from one moment to the next. First, the birds begin to wake. This morning, I heard 5 different calls, but don’t know if they were 5 different birds, or the same kind of birds having different conversations. I watched what appeared to be a woodpecker, hanging on the side of the old building two lots away, picking something from between the bricks. Because he was in silhouette, I could see no color, just shape. It was a big bird. And loud. Then, a flock of a different kind of bird few overhead. They were even louder, and flying with a mission! A small bird perched on the corner of the rooftop next door, I could see her silhouette. A long, pointed bill, a small graceful head, and a long, skinny body. And, she was SINGING! The funny part is that I couldn’t see her mouth open and close. Three orange orioles were in the big umbrella tree next door. They seem to always travel in threes. Chatty birds. They are calm, not flitting quickly from one place to another, sort of like old men spending an afternoon in the park: first they walk slowly, then decide where to sit, and they sit for a while before moving slowly to another place. Other birds, noisy too, fly in short spurts. Flapflapflapflap, coast, repeat. If I could draw a line with them, it would be a scallop stitch. Where are they going?

By now, the sun has appeared over the top of my east wall, and my face is in the sun. I am reminded that my butt is wet from the dew left on my chair. The bouganvilla vine hanging from the house on the west side has been in the sun all this time, the peach and fuchsia waving slowly in the non-breeze, making not a sound. More birds appear, flying off to work or to meet friends for breakfast. The noise in the street eases it’s way into my ear…a VW beetle, a motorcycle, a bus moving a little slowly still. Gradually, I’m aware that the buses have been on the streets for a while, and the drivers are getting a little more impatient with the driver in front of them, and I hear the first horn of the day. The sound of the juice machine in our own kitchen, and the slam of the refrigerator door signals that Stuart has breakfast underway, and now I can smell the oranges and papaya.