The Temperature of Morning

The alarm still goes off at 6:20. I wake at the same time as yesterday, and the same face as yesterday looks back from the mirror. Outside, a gray sky; the sun isn't up yet, but a dim light has settled in. The coffee on the table has gone lukewarm before I know it. A sip, and I pack my bag. The two people at the elevator don't look at each other. On the walk to the bus stop, cherry blossom petals fall in the wind. Commutes repeat the way seasons do, but today the air smells different from yesterday. Sitting on the bus, looking out the window, the morning sun comes slanting in. With a finger I draw frost on the glass, then wipe it away. Nothing has happened yet, but it feels as if something is about to begin. The commute goes on whether or not I trust that feeling. But today I simply think that it could.