Dust Mites
Morning Observations
Groggy eyes flutter open to rays of the cold winter sunrise. I lay in my warm bed cocooned in blankets, thinking about my day ahead. I wiggle my toes and stretch my muscles, movements that uplift the covers and expose my body to the cold. As I start to grow conscious of my own body, I realize a heavy sensation of my tired form. My mind races to not how much I did yesterday but how much I have to do today. I roll over in my bed, squinting towards the windows that cover the east side of my room. Dust specks dance in the morning light, a performance with a troop of thousands each in sync with the beat of my heart. I am the conductor, my body the instruments.
My eyes turn to the plants on my dresser; they seem to move towards the rays of light as well. I am not the only living thing in my room. My eye focused on my grey carpet. What lives in the forest of fabric? I hadn’t vacuumed in a week what mites or amoeba might be taking claim to my floor alongside dead skin cells and grime. Am I God to the life in my room, or am I in the presence of God showing me the marvel of life in the silence of this winter morning.