One of those days
Barely an hour ago, she was watching the birth of the aurora of April’s first Wednesday. She had always been intrigued by Wednesdays; they were a kind of downtime in which the whole week rested. She got out of bed a few minutes before dawn and went straight to the backyard. Once there, standing up and facing the horizon, which was about to break with the imminent sunlight, she heard the singing of birds that inhabited a nest right in front of the house and thought just how much she hated them. So small, so helpless, so vulnerable, so dependent on God. But that was irrelevant, the irrational hatred was caused by the simple fact that they could fly. The heat of the sun brought her out of her thoughts, since she was standing there for more than forty-five minutes. Today she felt anxious. She entered the house, went straight to the kitchen and placed the old and careless fret on the stove. Today she felt anxious. She took a cup and poured some of the black and aromatic liquid that was in