Itching to get on with things

It's hard to trust a morning this bright. Even the birds are glancing around, no doubt wondering what's up. And something is up. You can tell by the way the semis on the main drag are gearing down. As if the brightness is slippery.

I've seen such days come and go over the years. If you stare into the brightness long enough, you'll see someone coming down the street. Hood up. Small white dog on the end of a leash. It sniffs a rock, raises a leg. Everything golden. And it's then you realize it's time. Time to bury your head in your work.