While Small Towns Sleep:

Hey, Hungary!

     Have you ever had a magic moment? Mine was this morning. It began with a flop to the other side of the bed and the notification light from my phone beaming up at me.

     "If you are asleep, wake up.
     "If you are awake, watch the sunset."
     I'm sure my roommate, who had opted to sleep on the living room couch rather than put the effort in to return to her bed, thought I was absolutely crazy walking out of the apartment, still in full pajama get up, hair poking out at odd ends, at seven-twenty in the morning.
     But this command, given by my most dear and wonderful Cousin of Poetry, was one I couldn't help but obey. My bedroom window, thankfully, offered an altogether too limited view. I only realized this was a good thing as I stood in the middle of the sidewalk half-way behind my apartment complex with the whole panorama in front of me.
     I stood there for a long time, gathering strange looks from the seldom early-morning drivers going passed. I didn't care one jot. The sky was pink and orange and yellow with a brightening blue twinge. The chill  morning air was so crisp the birds' wings broke it as they flew by. I smiled. It had been far too long since last we'd said good morning like this.
     Now I'm curled up on the swivel chair at my old secretary-desk, surrounded by piles of books and blankets, listening to Israel Kamakawio'ole sing a mix of "Over the Rainbow" and "What a Wonderful World" on a loop.
     It really is a wonderful world.

Love, America.