It’s bright outside, but the incandescent bulb glows warm yellow inside a lamp I have not switched off. I hear birds chattering all at the same time. They are excited to tell their stories of places they have been to and yet to go. The wind must be calling them. I hear the whistling through the slats of the blinds I have not yet opened. The chirping stops and small voices in the distance replace them. They are as excited as the birds, talking about where their little feet had gone and where they want to take them. I keep my Indian sitting position in this cramped computer chair and move with it only as it swivels from side to side. I do not think of places I’ve been to or where I want to go. I only think of chocolate chip pancakes. The chair makes a clicking sound as it turns. It’s almost like a clock that depends on my movement to keep ticking. From this nook, I can make time go fast or slow. I am almost afraid to stand up, though my legs are telling me these pins and needles won’t go away until I do. If I stretch my legs now I know they will carry me away from this clock I can only control from this cramped space with my legs folded, my shoulders slumped and my back stooped. Once I head to the porch and switch off the lamp’s light I will join in the chorus of the birds and the children, and I will think about the places I’ve been to and where I want to go.
So, I go. The pancakes are waiting.