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MAGICAL STORY
My Morning as Angel
And it felt vaguely familiar
One morning I woke up as angel. Naturally, I didn’t know at first that I was an angel, only that things were different.
As I opened my eyes I knew that it was birdsong had woken me. Extra nice bird song. I usually didn’t hear it first thing, for I wake up so early, but this morning, yes, birdsong, lovely, lifted me out of my slumber and roused me to my senses.
And the pillow was so soft. Much softer than the night before. Odd that.
My kitchen is so small I call it a galley. In fact, I think of my cabin as a boat. But was my galley larger this morning? I looked once, twice, thrice before I had to conclude — boldly bucking logic — it was larger. Not longer, no, but wider. This morning it was a full step between sink and stove rather than the three-quarters one I was used to and had lived with for the last ten years. And the overhead fluorescent, yes, a little brighter this morning.
The tea a little greener.
The grapefruit a little grapefruitier as it explodes in my mouth, that sweet little drink — tastebud orgasms.
The morning a little morninger.
Things were adding up, but to what I couldn’t tell.
