this morning #40.

this morning, he glanced up at the flowers from his bed. they were wilting in the sun. a fly crawled through the petals. summer was over before it had started. the warmth had subsided. nothing would change. weather didn't work that way. he would have to be the change he wanted to be, but he didn't want to be that way. that way of thinking wasn't productive. he sat up quickly with sickly thoughts & fought off the cold of the times. age forty would come & the fun would run out & considerable shifts would become just another cool way for these mornings to stay as a part of his routine to come.