The sun is just rising making the sky a messy mixture of pink and purple. It reminds me of a Hypercolor t-shirt so popular in the late 80s. The birds must be lavish dreamers. They wake anxious to share the details of their previous night's slumber, squawking the lurid details to their fellow winged friends. I hear their voices fill the air and follow me as my feet keep rhythm on the pavement below the branches where they recite their night stories. The morning air is unseasonably cool. I wrap myself in a hooded thermal jacket. Soon my body warms and when I remove my hood the wind catches my hair. I can smell the lavender from my shampoo and it makes me breathe a little deeper. My walk is a cycle of lines and curves. I walk the length of a sidewalk then arch outward to avoid the muddy alleys. The rain has been heavy this spring and the unpaved alleys are filled with puddles your feet can sink into and get lost. I can smell the damp earth. I close my eyes to force my senses to focus on the smell of the fresh morning. I turn the corner and the scent of honeysuckle is so strong it stops me in my tracks. Vines of green and tiny yellow and white flowers hang heavily from a brick wall. For a moment the sweet smell leaves me paralyzed and I have to wake myself from this intoxication and remind myself to move on. By the time I reach home the pounding of my feet and the sound of my own breathing are drowned out by the morning happenings of other risers. It's time to step further into my day...but the smell of the honeysuckle and the wind is still on my skin.