Light rain opening up the sky and cooling off the cement at the foot of brick building doorsteps. The sun is attempting to poke through, blue patches against the broader heavens cut into shapes against the skyline of sharp lines. The Babylon of my corner of the world growing. No silence on a Monday morning as we all move from our beds into upright positions, letting the blood drain to our feet and our heads fill with ideas of the day. 

I press my feet into the wood panels, laminated against scratches, water marks spilled against the floor from emptying cups and wet dishes. Along each line I discern the parts of our meals and snacks, crumbs from crackers and flecks of dried kale, burned rice and pebbles from our shoes, tromping across the city in search of the perfect summer melons. 

I am already thinking about all the things I need to do and how to focus my time. Listening to the children get ready for school, their parents pushing strollers against the wet ground, mumbling about their uniforms and behaving well. I am listening with the window open, hoping some air flow would push us closer to a sense of cool in the muggy space, but nothing blows. I guess I will just listen to the construction across the street, watching the cranes lower steel beams and men in orange vests hammer supports in place. 

All the thoughts about what I should do continue to swirl in my head. Perhaps I should wake up earlier so I have some time for silence. I don’t think this would really matter, secretly wishing the rain would continue to stop the world from loitering outside the bodega on the corner. The world is awake and I am starting to wake up myself, rubbing my eyes and staring down at my fingertips to see the lashes that just came out, soft and thin against the backdrop of swirling, almost imperceptible human design. I could blow them away but instead drop my hands and walk into the bathroom to check my appearance, how much sleep is in the corner of my eyes and whether there is drool dried against the corners of my mouth. 

At least for now I am maintaining my quiet. A slowness and a reminder of what comes next when really what I am hoping for is a way to stay awake, aware, connected to the moment. Perhaps the sun will break through the clouds today, whispering in a sense of blue, moving me away from the backdrop of my own reflection. I can feel myself slowing down, thinking about what comes next and the fear nestling itself in my body. But then I return: a thought about what I can get done and what moving forward might mean for getting out from behind the uncertainty. I am slowing down enough to be where I am, hoping I can at least enjoy this cup of tea before futurity becomes the word of the day.