Summer Morn

It is morning. 7:30 am. The house is still. My wife has already left for work. My son sleeps peacefully on the sofa, worn out from a night of video-games and cartoon shows. The dog lies sleeping in his dog bed. The cat sits at the threshold of the back door and watches the chirping birds through the screen door. The only other noise
is the hum of the large air conditioner in the kitchen window. The only movement, a drifting, deflating foil balloon that reads "Happy Birthday" in crumpled letters. The stand fan blows a soft breeze benefiting no one except the artificial plant. I need to make my lunch and head to work. Instead, this is the time I choose to write. Something in me decided I needed to capture this moment, not on film or with a camera, but with words.