A little meditation on morning

There are many mornings in one. Exactness becoming as elusive as morning itself. First there’s the one when your brother startles you awake at 2:12am because it’s barely 9pm at home. “You’re on my favorites list,” you mumble. “Your calls always come through.” Now he understands and says he’ll try you at noon tomorrow. Then there’s the seagulls' morning. Their yapping eating sleep until you’re hungry for sunlight. “Okay, it must be morning,” you think. “What! It’s 5:50am.” Why are they up so early? You shuffle to the bathroom, find the toilet to relieve yourself and decide — just a couple more hours. Between then and now, there are countless mornings, marked by the slow rise of Dublin. You add to the birds’ choir at about 7:20 with grunts, moans, and stretches. A new day awaits; you’re in fecking Ireland!