Most of my days are spent with my eyes closed. Whether it’s while I sleep or awake, I close them to listen. I hear the sun as it peaks over the eastern sky, above the oak trees that face my window. I see the yellow fighting to slip through the tiny openings in my screen. I smell the heat bounce off my skin and hear it land on my hair that lies on my pillow. I smell the lavender from my shampoo as my hair becomes warmer. I wake. My cat is sleeping beside me and his brother is at my feet. I touch his soft fur and he quietly purrs. His brother meows- angered by the disruption. I close my eyes again and listen to the birds. The wild turkeys are chatting, presumably talking about the future events of the day. The pheasant cries out, but no one is listening but me. His cries are filled with wanting and I identify with it. The other birds are singing to each other, and it makes me smile.
I attempt to get out of bed. I feel the light breeze from my fan and hear it’s whirling blade. It’s spinning clockwise , hypnotizing me. I’ve become familiar with the sounds in my apartment. Too familiar. The refrigerator’s tinny vibrato , repeating its aria until the door is open. The cacophony of birds outside my window. The wind through the trees, the fan, the heat, and my Hula Girl.
They are my orchestra, but I’m not the conductor