elephants tip toeing through the jungle

The early morning sleeping house, first one awake and alone at the kitchen table writing. The sun, bright and urgent illuminates the room, the distant murmur of a child in their dream, a cat company on the rug and the slow steady tick of the clock. It feels like time stands still, though the inpatient heat of the kettle tells me that it is not so.

The table is clear, ready for another day’s mess, the kitchen tools hang motionless and rested in their place ready, the piano un-played, the drums not beating and my thoughts unperturbed and ready to take their place on a blank page.

In the time the kettle takes to finish so do I.