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Central Texas Dawn

My bed is set next to the window, many nights I look out into the darkness and that is where my adventures often begin.  In the darkness of my dreams I can wear many pretty colors, but then I like the dawn. As the sun rises over my fantasies and begins to bathe my world in the bright colors of the Central Texas dawn, I start to dreams new dreams.  I dream of things to be and things I wish to be and things never to be. Sometimes it is hard to dream of the things that are never to be because you know the reality.

I often sit up in bed and wait for the sun to peek in as it's first golden sliver appears. I listen to the bobwhite announce to the whole world that it is up.  I can see off in the distance a flock of wild turkeys without a care in the country. There is a red fox still on her way back to her den. Often I see the squirrels jumping from tree to tree and I wait for those heavenly denim jeans.

He gets up the same time every morning, winter or summer or spring or fall.  His lights are up before the sun every morning.  Some seasons not so much and others for quite awhile. In the summer time, my favorite time, he comes out of the house without a shirt and wearing those tight denim jeans. As the days go by I notice that he must buy a new pair each season because as each season begins its journey he sports a new pair of sexy, dark blue denim jeans.

I don't think he sees me, up in my window looking out into his world, his world of always fading blue denim.  As the season trods on the blue gives way to the softness of the fading of jeans made of the whitest of cotton. Each season blends into the other as his denim fades into one.

I like my dream man of blue denim, I watch as the days past. I know the routine. I have watched it enough.  Each morning he stands on the porch with his morning cup in his hand and he sips at first, taking in the mornings light. No matter how dark, the coffee is hot; steam in the winter mingles with his breath. Always he drinks the last two gulps and places his cup on the rail and jots down the steps. He goes to the barn and I see those denims from behind.  They fit oh so tight and form quite the sight.  I know I shouldn't look but they are there just the same.

He comes from then barn leading the mare and opens the gate and she runs free. I don't like this part because he gets into his old truck and is gone for most of the day. I don't see those denims until night fall.  In the dark of night I can still see those denims.  He sits on the porch in the rocker and for a moment I think he can see me and this is our moment together.  But alas he gets up and goes inside and puts those faded blue denims away until the morn.  I will be there, looking out over my blue denim dreams.

One of these days, I will go down and he will notice me, he won't think me just a kid, one of these days.

Amy Beth Crosley