friday (as the sun sets)
My bed is made, but I sprawl across the covers cattycorner to watch the wind in the trees outside. The fan spins idly. The room is cool. Birds in different colors are perching like spring ornaments in the branches. The sun drifts lower and lower; my room grows darker. Against the far treetops, a remaining line of light. The wind chimes sing, distant but clear; a closing line of notes to the leaves that rustle in long waves. I sing a few lines from a Madi Diaz song and pretend that it sounds pretty. One cat is curled across my hips, the other by my head. The bookshelf is messy - my trinkets out of place. A feeling comes over me, unnamable. The cat near my head purrs, quiet but constant, and I whisper to him, "Are you happy?"