Iggy and the New Day

Necessity has brought me to this time and place.

The optics of my camera phone are inadequate to capture the imagery I see in these moments before dawn, so I must use the inadequacy of words instead. I start the timer for my five minute deadline. Go!

Snatches of unfinished lyrics spring to mind from songs of another life. Morning stars and indigo skies recall other predawn times. But no new lines offer themselves up in sacrifice, so I will observe and recount the world as I see it.

This morning, the black silhouette of an abandoned silo against a slowly brightening sky stands in stark contrast to the sound of Iggy singing about being fancy. I am her opposite in this early hour; decidedly ‘un-fancy’ with no melodies readily available to me.

Another time perhaps.

Already night sounds are transforming into the soundtrack of the new day. At least the birds still remember music. It may be cacophonous to some, but to me their song is beautiful and random. It is the sweet dissonance of real life, and all the more fitting for this moment.

My five minutes are up and the sky grows brighter with every thumb-stroke. At fifty-two, there are more mornings in the rear view mirror of memory than ahead.

One should never waste a dawn, or the promise of a new day.