The window is open, and I can hear a soft drumming in the faceted peaks of the covers that surround me. I am sprawled onto my mattress, a slumbering lioness. My heart beats with such determination that the pillows that have rented space somewhere other than under my head, now pressing against my chest, vibrate. The pillows are vibrating beneath me, and so is the mattress. I turn my head toward the window and ask my self aloud, “What is that drumming?” As my dream state fades I realize it is coming from the ipod on my desk that has played songs all night long. It happens to be playing a cover of 32 Flavors by Ani Difranco. The cover is by Alana Davis. Check it.
I reach for my phone and unplug it. It has apparently malfunctioned. No new emails, no new reminders or texts (impossible). Confirming my intuition, the background has changed over night. A wonderful painting by an ex-boyfriend, which I had thought was lodged within my phone’s memory banks no longer, evokes a mood I hadn’t recalled for many months. Oh what has the universe in store for me today? I am reminded of him now. I turn toward the window again and glance at the hiding Bostonian skyline. She peaks over the other buildings, filtered by the still bare (though budding) trees. One kind of beauty becomes another.
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