Twog 3: The Morning

(A Twog is longer than a tweet
But shorter than a Blog).

The morning wakes me, It is always as if my body hears the new day and wakes.
My two dogs who sleep beside me, listen to my waking body.
My Yorkie, Chuy, hops on me and licks my face.
Sometimes, I think I believe in God because of this creature who looks as me as if I was
the center of the universe. It’s beautiful, the way dogs love.
I like to make noises when I wake. Perhaps, because I wake so slowly, the words that
live inside me, have not yet arrived. The noises are all I can manage.
I escape all of Chuy’s kisses and place my feet on the floor. I walk toward the bathroom
and after I finish emptying myself of the water that my body no longer needs, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I walk into the kitchen and grind the coffee. I love the smell of morning coffee. The dogs
jump on me, and I love on them, and they look at me with that look of dependence and
affection and I know they want their breakfast.

I love mornings and dogs and coffee, and I am happy.

Mornings make me happy—and remind me that my complicated life doesn’t have to be

complicated. Life has its quiet, simple moments. I sit and pray my morning prayer:

“I can claim nothing in this world except the beauty of this day and
this wounded heart that is leaning toward the light and will lean
that way forever.”

I drink my coffee.
I smoke my cigarette.
I wonder if I will write anything that is worthy writing.
I’ll paint today. That’s what I’ll do. Today is not a day for words. Today is a day to place a brush on the canvas.
Living is an art. That’s a lovely thought. Living is an art.