Anchors of a day

Piles of blankets and a duvet for good measure.  
My head on a pillow.  
The warmth of a kitten purring next to my heart.  
German Shepherd sneaking onto the bed 
Old lady hound dog licking her bone  
fan moving in circles ominously above
Where are the birds
It’s Tuesday again  

Door sliding open 
dogs rushing out
Kitten paws landing on counter tops purring
Water turns on filling the bowl
Clicking of blinds in the kitchen as they open
Still enough summer to let in the sun
Water running into the kettle then onto the stove
Kernels of food dropping into their bowls
The sounds of the gathering of things required to continue this farce

I feel rushed 
there are words waiting to be touched
Words waiting to be gathered together then placed onto this page
But first the routine that anchors the day
Its a farce

The sound of the lid from the kitten food opens
He purrs even louder he knows what’s inside
The sound of the lid from the dog food opens
The spoon mixing it up tells the dogs its time to come in

This routine is a farce but it makes me feel better
The sound of the bowls as they are placed on the floor
It’s all been written already
They know what will come
They know all the sounds that will happen as the anchor is gently lowered on to the day

Coffee beans in the grinder disturbs the soft quiet of morning
Old-lady hound, German shepherd, and kitten 
They are not disturbed 
They know what is coming 
it’s part of the routine
It’s the anchor dropping into the depths of the day
It’s a farce of course

Ground coffee lands in the filter
Kettle whistling on the stove
Water poured trickles through the coffee, the filter, then into the cup I will soon drink
It’s part of the farce
This routine reconstructed from the ruins left behind

But there are words to be found 
Words to be touched 
Gathered gently, arranged, and put on this page
But the clock.  The damn fucking clock 
It keeps ticking
I wish it would stop  
Work awaits

I want to wander the corridors of my mind
Mingle casually with words that are hidden inside 
I want to listen intently to the stories they tell then reach out and touch them 
Look closely and see them each on their own side by side
This isn’t a place one opens a door and goes to
It’s a place one finds while wandering curiously through the corridors of a mind
Where clocks aren’t ticking and work isn’t waiting
I want to wander through the possibilities of my garden while digging in soil
Measuring fertilizer, spraying the leaves
Talking to flowers
Asking them about the secrets they know
I want to let my mind roam free without the constraints of a clock
Work awaits
It is Tuesday 

This morning I must choose a quick soiree with the sounds of the words mingling together
Or a quick visit to the garden to hear the secrets they learned overnight
It is Tuesday 
I must leave all of that behind
The clock is ticking
I must go to work