The day dawns bright but cool.
The smoke has blown away for now. The fires rage on but here it’s calm and the sun pokes gently through dappled leaves on evergreen gums rather than searing through strange skies of orange haze.
I cook breakfast and hug a cup of fresh hot tea curled up on the couch while the dawn turns into morn and it’s time to face the day.
I shower and change and laziness loses to the sweet summer air, the cool welcome breeze.
I walk to the tram; racing across the road in the last few feet, red light blinking, to jump on as it slides to a stop, pauses, then slides off into Tuesday with me on board.
I hop off and step quickly into a cafe. Hot and bitter served by a barista hot and sweet.
He brings it to my table himself, his hipster glasses and professional indifference framing his Korean Indie singer look.
I take a sip and pull out my notebook, the minutes ticking down slowly till my bus leaves and I’m due at work.
I pull out a pen.
I write.
It feels normal.
It is normal.
I take a deep clean breath of air and think
Maybe I can
Love, February