Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Morning in the Tropics

Morning is my favorite time of the day. The city is quiet, tranquil even as it anticipates the rush to come. In the early morning hours before the rumble of buses and the din of pedestrians begins to echo through the concrete canyons I can think. It is in the morning when the sky is clear and the promise of something new seems closest.

This morning is like any other in that way. The sun pops up into the sky - certainly not unannounced but much quicker here on the equator than it does in more northern and southern climes. With the sunrise comes the heat and rising humidity as the settled moisture from last nights rain wafts up into the atmosphere. Heat and humidity drain the energy out of me. So I have to make the most of the early morning hours. I jealously guard that brief period of time before the stifling heat and humidity mix with the cacophony of human activity to render all thought impossible.

As is my habit I sit perched on the railing of our balcony - gazing out over the city full of hope. Perhaps this morning will be the day. Perhaps this morning before my master chases me back into the climate controlled apartment a foolish bird will fly too close. This might be the morning that I get to satisfy that primal longing I have to be myself, to satisfy the urge to hunt. Soon, my master with coffee cup in hand will disturb my sanctuary of unmet desire. Barging onto the balcony with his noise and size. Rubbing my fur and talking nonsense to me - all the while unaware that his mere presence banishes forever any chance I have of catching that bird which surely would have come my way today.

With tail raised high I proudly march into the apartment. Another morning come and gone. Another opportunity passed. I don't get far before stopping to primp and preen as the humidity is already getting into my fur and causing me trouble. Morning is my favorite time of the day. I can't wait for tomorrow.

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