Thursday, April 3, 2008. My hand shakes the pen I have pressed into my newly cracked notebook. I am bundled in my coat. By the time it is full it will be the end of June. This is your morning wake-up call.
(A school bus rounds corners. Children climb up steps too tall for them.)
Do you remember those mornings where the weather woke us by tapping on the windows, growling through the walls and lit the sky? Do you recall hoping through prayers for rain days, where busses wouldn't roll through puddles, splashing us in our cuff soaked slacks? The grass sat soft as marsh when we rolled out in front of the t.v., dragging our feet while getting dressed, too excited to shovel down cereal as the scroll shows counties under cars with water rushing to their sides. Brazos, Montgomery... we'd imagine Harris and we urge the screen to move faster. School districts were never far behind. Wake up.
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