Mute Morning

The air is still and sticky, and the birds outside my window don’t seem to realize that the sun has barely risen three hours after it promised. A mute morning. Lying in bed considering every praying mantis I’ve ever met, and if the ringing in my ears is a signal from the universe that I choose to ignore. It’s loud but I can drown it out. Maybe I was a flightless bird in a past life.