I forgot people got up this early + five-sense Friday

The light is creeping up on me; a few moments ago, all I could see through the gauzy dining room curtains was black, but now I see a sort of hazy distinction between bricks and window frames on the next building's walls. A glow seeps down into the alley, filling the (maybe) three yards of space between my windows and the neighbor's, reminding me that other people are alive and perhaps even awake mere feet away.

Josh is off on a marvelous journey, and I am nursing a sinus infection in my PJs and his sweatshirt. Apart from calling the mechanic about our wonky car that keeps stalling out while we're driving it (a problem, I suppose) and trekking to the market to buy yogurt to replenish the good bacteria that's supposed to live inside me, I have cancelled all of today's appointments. I will wear the comfiest socks in my sock drawer and listen to the classical radio station and eat soup. And read books. Oh, the books.

So rather early, here we have it:

seeing: that stealthy morning light competing with my lamps. Also, the untidy wreck of a week's end, which is somehow comforting.

smelling: not much. My sniffer's not working so well right now.

tasting: tea. Wishing for the taste of anther cornmeal scone, but we finished them yesterday. Perhaps I will make more. And blueberry preserves, which are life-changingly delicious

feeling: soft couch cushions.

hearing: water in the pipes for downstairs neighbors' morning showers. Old buildings are cozy like that, reminding one that there's no such thing as alone.