Little Cuts: Stories in the Present Tense

Early in the morning, the world silently yawning, you sip your coffee and tip toe around your mind. Caffeine turns your eyes on, wide as a lantern fish. Another cup and the tiptoes will be cha-cha-chas. You make sure to swallow a big gulp of air before it’s tarnished with the angst of bustling commuters. The sky yet to be taken for granted, lights up gradually, in increments, inch by inch, as if operated by a store bought dimmer. Birds, so content in their solitude forget to pick at the ground for treasure. The sun begins to purr and licks at the skyline, smaller than the one you are accustomed to, but just as majestic. Anything can happen and will but this moment is yours. Until the garbage trucks rumble and shake, breaking the spell and the skittish birds fly to their nests, with nothing to show for themselves but ruffled feathers.