Some mornings, they call for something just a little wacky. Out of the ordinary, but not too far. Because I can only take so much, really. But a stretch in the orange light.
Some mornings call for stripping out of your pajamas on the open front stoop of your house.
And then dressing yourself there, as well.
It’s not as if I had a choice, entirely. She pulled her flowery pajama shirt over her head faster than I could say stop. Her belly button bared. My free spirit. Before I knew it, she was down to her diaper, flaunting it for all the neighbors at a time too early to shake anyone else. Unless they had kids who were doing the same, too.
Abby then vanished back inside for a moment, after demanding me to stay. “Don’t move,” she instructed, “I’ll be right back”. I did as told as she gathered a pile of mismatched clothes and spread each article in a clump on the small step right beyond our front door. From there, we pulled on two pairs of socks for each foot and the out of season outfit she chose herself. Because it isn’t like her to correlate her fashion sense with the heat warning we would experience later into the afternoon.
But then, in that moment, it was a wake up. A spirited touch, brighter even than the orange, warm light.
Some mornings, they simply call for a new approach.