Life in the gap

My mother often hums this tune "zeezee zee zeezee.." which I am sure, she doesn't even know the origin of. To fill in the gap between her attempted conversation knocking on my distracted minutes and getting back into her own head, unattended. As if compensating for my inattentiveness.

Life at times, under a topographic dissection, seems a lot like her "zeezee zee zeezee.." hum that fills in the gap. In between the person you were until yesterday's moon cradled amongst the stars and the one you are about to become when today's sun parks in the porch.

The today that still feels like tomorrow, because you cannot yet see the sun.

But you know, it has risen.

Because your windowpane daintily shows the pastel-coloured cover of the book you dog-eared midway last night. And if you squint well enough, you can read the title written in bold, baskerville, right from your pillow.

The gap, where neither the moonlit balcony coaxes you into writing sombre poetry, nor the sun-kissed greens wash away the hungover paint of melancholy from your eyes.

As if you are in a syzygy, with you between your waning and your waxing crescent.

The gap where you have hummed away from yesterday and are still dawning into today. Compensating, sometimes over compensating for the latent swindle, life played you on a fiddle and the distinct elizabethan song you are about to be written into.

You can hear the merry and mirthful orchestral ensemble consorting with your manifestations. But you cannot quite read the lyrics taking your shape yet. Not even when you squint.

But you know. You know the sun will ascend to address your eyes, from behind the tree right in front your balcony. Maybe in a few more minutes. Maybe in an hour.

You know the song you are about to be written into, will be dulcet and exquisite. Maybe today. Maybe a few more suns later.

So you hum away, mindlessly in the gap, into the uncertain plot development in the upcoming paragraph in your dog-eared page.

Certain, that irrespective, the book will climax.