Waking

5:20 AM

There’s the footy ground,
tallest goalposts in the southern hemisphere
towering into the dawn.

The sun peeks behind the tree line,
my right knee creaks—
which path today?

Mumbling my affirmations,
repeating beliefs
that feel as solid as the morning mist.

Feet moving just faster than comfortable,
I sidestep to let a jogger pass—
vague nod.

Mind keeps drifting—
how do I fit it all into today?
Who gets disappointed?
Which of my carefully balanced balls will fall?

A beautiful jacaranda stops me—
sunlight tangling in the purple blossoms.

I wonder about yet another societal mess
I can't control—
misanthropic thoughts curl up like cigarette smoke,
then I smack my brain back to presence.

The path is still clear,
free of morning enthusiasts.
I am free, just for now,
so I spread my arms,
embrace the world,
breathe in deeply—
the eucalyptus tang, the soft crunch of gravel,
birds calling out.

Life is both good and fucked,
but I guess it’s all in the interpretation.

A thought pops into my mind,
and then another—
something about this could make a good poem.
I stop, scribble a note in my phone, happy.

Pace home quickly—
I've got to write it down.