Morning is for walking. At 6 AM, before breakfast, my ostomy has yet to initiate the incontinence that affects the remainder of my day, and the outside temperature has yet to become unbearably warm and humid. As I exit the front door, my cat’s complaints about what I have spooned into his bowl for his breakfast is soon replaced by the avian applause raining down from the trees to greet the hour. It is still dark, but I can see the sky beginning to blue above the dark shadows of the mossy live oaks. There was a time when I would walk with the accompaniment of music plugged into my ears, but no longer. Now I prefer the birdsong, mainly the boundless and varied singing of the mockingbird, whose repertoire seems endless. Going along Brown St. soon transforms into going up Brown St. which, my legs tell me in their non-verbal way, is making them work harder. I’m breathing more heavily when it crests into Coombs Dr. Turning left, I’m seeing spindly crepe myrtles on both sides of the road, yet it is still too dark to make out the deep pink flower puffs dangling around its skinny limbs. Reaching the end of the cul de sac, I turn around and head back. The sky has lightened and the neighborhood is taking shape around me. I can see the crepe myrtle blossoms now, and the red cardinal couple flitting about near them. Now I’m going down Brown St. and heading home. I’m like a steer sensing the nearness of water and the end of my trail. My cat greets me with a sour expression on his face. My day begins.
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