The Temperature of Morning

On the bus window on the way to work, memories settle like frost. Yesterday's mistakes scatter like mist, and today's tasks come clear like the scenery outside. When I open the coffee shop door, a familiar scent greets me. There's a small comfort in the voice of the part-timer calling out the order. We all open the day enduring our own time. On my office desk, the note I left yesterday flutters a little in the breeze. The writing on it hasn't faded yet. I pick up a pen and quietly write down today's temperature. At the pace of a morning with no need to hurry.