Sunday morning breaks on Angela's balcony.

by Angela K. Durden

The Most Brilliant Woman in the World

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Protecting creator's copyrights. 

The constancy of the cicadas' calls do not stop even as the wind twitches the tops of trees and shuddering leaves fall. 

A mother calls for her child to come eat his breakfast. 

A door slams and a dog yaps for his owner to hurry, hurry down stairs slick with dew, huffing, panting, pulling hard to sniff out this morning's special piece of grass or tree. 

The wind dips lower and hair moves into my eyes. I push out a lip and blow quick, focused air pushing strands back into place. 

Small drops of rain, blown by the wind, land on my arms like cold, fine needle points, teasing the skin with refreshing vigor. 

Coffee cools as pages turn and a gray light of an overcast day threatens to hide the story. 

Distant echoes of wheels on pavement remind of chores undone and goals unmet, but the cicadas' calls say bide a while longer in our company... and I do.

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