wander

When it finally occured to me that if I hurried, I would have time to walk to work and still get there on time, I was standing in the shower at 6:30 am. I wasn't in the mood to hurry, as I'd already basked in a long, lazy morning.

It was 7:15 when I left, and it was still mostly dark outside. The moon was a thin waning crescent in the dusky sky above the greenbelt, but a rosy band of gold overlaid the tree line. I walked my normal route, ticking off each conceptual third of the path as I covered it. By the time I reached the first major crossing, the sunrise was only just beginning; by the time I reached the second crossing, it was at its most beautiful.

Before the second crossing, I passed the daycare again. As early as it was, there were still children out playing in the yard. The woman watching them was wiping down the aluminum hurricane fence, but she would turn and look at the kids, no more than toddlers, and try to rein them in with her voice.

"Sit at the table," she told one recalcitrant toddler, her voice rough and her tone firm, then shortly thereafter, "Sit at the table," she repeated. Her tone softened as she tried a third time: "Sit at the table, please," but the little boy wasn't listening. Finally, she started singing, off-tune and hoarsely:

Let's sit at the table,
Let's sit at the table,
Let's sit at the table,
and eat our breakfast now.

Her little song was punctuated by a phlegmy smoker's cough, and as I walked on, chuckling to myself, I wondered whether Patty and Selma had opened a daycare center.