At the door, we ran thru the checklist. Lunch? Keys? Coffee? Phone (required for logging in)? I have been known to forget things.
“Brain.” I mumbled.
Trudy smiled and gave me a smooch. “Pretty morning,” she said, pointing at rose-tinted clouds in the west.
“Pretty morning,” I dutifully repeated.
…
I must tell you, the morning commute has been an unexpected bonus of teaching at Austin High. Not only is it brief, but there’s only a single lane change, and that into a sparse exit lane at the very end. Not hectic.
I turned on cruise control, leaving two car-lengths ahead for the speeding tech bros weaving to work in their Teslas. I turned up Roberta Flack. I took a sip of hot coffee and settled into the lusciously warm seat
Half-way there.
…
On the far side of Barton Creek, the highway climbs upward, and the north- and southbound lanes diverge around a few modest hills of Juniper and Oak — one of the few unbulldozed vestiges of the “parkway” originally promised to Austinites as part of the development compromise in the 80s. The tree trunks were cloaked in shadows thrown across the highway from the margin of trees on other side. I did a double-take. Their canopies were glowing bright pink.
At the crest of the hill, the towers of Oz rose up on the north side of the river, flashing in a spectacular morning light. Electric magenta glinted off their eastward faces. The rising sun blazed in the east.
“Pretty morning,” I thought to myself, recalling the smiling face of the fair and industrious Trudy as she pointed at the clouds.
She sees these things.