Early Sunday Morning

I was awoken by voices of the lawyer and his friends. He lives 2 floors down in the entresuelo or the principal and as such has the benefit of a large terraza.

As opposed to many other pre dawn Sundays it was soft conversations that invade my sleep and not The Doobie Brothers or Leo Sayer.

The voices were part of my dreams long before I actually woke up. A buzz of Spanish words punctuated by the lawyers low, gruff, ducado voice. As my dreams gave way to the reality of Sunday morning a woman was softly saying, "No, Carino, no." Which was followed by an incongruously louder, "Estoy una Aleman." Estoy? I layed there with my eyes closed letting the voices wash over me, amazed at my luck of being here and being alive for another morning.

The lavender light of dawn was slowly replaced by the amber rays of the sun. The colors being accentuated by the ochre color of the building and the stories high ceramic blocks that someone had failed to paint.

The neighbor and his friends voices had seemingly also awoken the birds who make their home in the in the patio de la manzana. The weird free jazz noodlings of the swifts triggered the sharp chirping of the pet parakeets which in turn started the low cooing of the pigeons. I rolled over to see a single grey feather slowly spiral down to the floors below.