6am, Fresh.

Lying in bed. Shifting hues of blue softly illuminate the room. Now is somewhat sacred. For with this hour, I am not closely acquainted. Normally, my awareness at this segment of a day is only that I am subconsciously in existence.

Over the past 1200 minutes I’ve pondered things of simplicity. One item probably of little significance to others, the word Sun-day; taken literally. A chaos of associations with the origination of the word have been dazzling around my synapses. For some reason, the one sticking out most to me, is the hunch I have that today is going to be quite sunny, not because it’s San Diego, but because it’s Sun-day.

Each moment that ends when the next begins, anxiety and excitement catch me by the arm. Will I continue this disposition of alertness and witness the instant the room segues from indigo into orange; or will I again slip fast into slumber?

A brief though my mind of dressing and venturing for a morning jog—or brisk walk-- depending on what my body would allow. I am weak. A morning 48 hours prior to this one, waking up was not so pleasant. Excruciating pain stemming from my eye pulsed and spread throughout my body. A trip to the center of ophthalmology and center of diseases and surgeries of the eye informed me of some not-so-fantastic news. A vision-threatening virus had entered and attacked my cornea, which also created a picky-back virus to reside in the rest of my body. Cute, it made itself a companion.

Ah ha! T’is orange! Orange. At 6:44am. It’s evident because the room is now in a neutrally lit stance. Its funny how on the color wheel, blue and orange are opposites. Like man and woman, like cats and dogs. For those of you non-art people, that means they cancel each other out, when placed side-by-side, the other pops. When mixed, they make brown. That was no accident. What an insanely creative artist the Man Upstairs is and how thoughtful. How our eyes were designed to react to such placements of various combinations of hues and to comprehend optical illusions as true. Often times I find myself counting the number of colors stacked on top of the pacific. Beginning from the bottom, up. Probably every time I reach the crossover from “Y” to “G” in “Roy G. BIV”, I get a little giddy. Like being first introduced to the creative acronym. Something about pastel lime in the sky gets me every time. I suppose because when considering the sunrise any other time of the day, “I love the green!” is not what most would say. Maybe its subtlety is what gets me. How slightly yellow slides up to blue, creating a short path of green. And how it somewhat, in a tricky placement of atmosphere from our perspective, seems to defy gravity; for the natural force pulls down, and yet the colors stretch upward and across the sky. I wonder if in heaven, people still have a favorite color?

Your life in a suitcase

They come in all shapes and sizes through words or maybe actions; goodbyes.
Some can be emotional and include great physical contact. Others are like a
cold-read from an actor who belongs behind the lens. Like suitcases, each one serves the same purpose: a place to carry belongings that are somehow essential to the owner. Patterns and sizes may vary but luggage is luggage.

Arrive at the gate, and then the wait. Staring at complete strangers becomes
acceptable and appropriately re-termed 'people watching'.

Everyone is coming or going and that's just a fact of life. A redirection of focus onto
others may mask personal anxiety but does not eliminate it. What
is he thinking? Who is she going to visit?

"flight 1284 service to
San Diego California will begin boarding 1st class at this time", is heard from above.

Were words spoken that needed to be? Was enough time granted to the
longtime land dwellers who potentially may get a one-way to be with
the lord upon your next arrival?

"passengers in all four zones may now board the plane"

why didn't I....

28a. Window seat. A catch 22. A great view and only one neighboring
seater. But passing on the 3rd water offer from the flight attendant
may be beneficial when the seemingly narcoleptic lady
passes out after two sips of her cocktail

Time for take off. Hold on, brace yourself for turbulence, and
pray you land safely at your next destination