The door stuck. It opened with a jolt. Illumination was limited to street lamps and porch lights, the sun not yet up. Halcyon Avenue was quiet. Likewise 12th Avenue and Paris and Belmont. A lone runner made her way east along the boulevard.
A vegetable delivery sat on pallets in front of Martin's BBQ. The delivery guy was in the refrigerated box offloading more produce. Kenny's truck was parked at an angle between pumps and service bay - taking up a good portion of the lot and obstructing the view. He'd been washing it. It was still dripping and shiny.
I walked into the office, "What's up?"
I poured a cup of coffee. Kenny met me in the shop to top off his cup. We walked out and sat on the planter out front.
"Did you fish yesterday?" I asked.
"Sure did." He said.
"Caught about 70 catfish before noon." He said.
Conversation weaved in and out of fishing, work, and the people walking by. A crew gathered in front of Iron Tribe across the street. They looked ready to sweat. I had no desire to join them. The conversation took several turns, meandering through rows of tarpon to catch and stacks of tires to change. My oil needed tending. That could wait.
We sat there on the planter. We chatted. We didn't say much. We said everything.
Sun soaked clouds rolled west to east, purple, then pink, then grey.
I walked back home, nearly missing my turn - head elsewhere. I gathered my mat and walked to Liberation. Samantha was there - all smiles and hellos. A few early-rising yogis joined us. We moved. We sweated. I thought of the Iron Tribe folk and their cross-fit bodies dripping wet. I thought about motion. I thought about work. I moved. I moved. I saluted the sun. I found the moment.
Somewhere around sun salutation 5, I was there. In the studio. In my mind. In my moment. The mind quiet. Breath smooth. The hour was. The hour was no more.
I'm in my office now. I'm working. I'm blogging. I'm considering new things. Today is a good day.
I'm trying something new.
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