Job-Site Dawn

Walking through the wooden frame of the house we're building for you, I was drawn to the lake behind it. Breathing in the crisp air that swept unobstructed across the water, I stood on the bank with my eyes shut tight, trying hard to ignore the task list that kept popping up in my minds eye like some viral screen saver screaming for attention. Suppressing everything but the slowly waning chorus of frogs exhausted from a frenzied night of late season posturing and the breeze gently kissing my face, I could feel the openness of the lake and of the surrounding countryside itself. A mockingbird stood atop a survey stake like Hillary on Everest, the wind lifting its tail feathers in tandem with the bright orange tape flapping to mark the spot. Unlike last time, he didn’t scold me for trespassing nearby, choosing instead to generously share the fragile quiet. A subtle scent of fresh water mussels coming off the lake transported me back to a cozy booth that afforded sanctuary several nights prior, when I nestled up to a bowl of green lip mussels smothered in chopped garlic and white wine. Again I struggled to focus on the quiet of the new day, but the last peaceful moment was lost with the rumble of approaching trucks carrying workers eager for the bolder sounds of pounding hammers accompanied by country pop music played to distortion on Wall Mart boom boxes cracked and splashed white with plaster. And so begins the frantic carnival of a new day, even now anticipating the peaceful balance of tomorrow’s dawn.