morning scribbles

Somewhere in a small bathroom in the basement of a house built long after the west was won, steam rises from an empty shower. The door goes from crystal clear to foggy in a matter of moments as small beads of water collect on the opposite side of the glass.

Extra sleepy feet hit the soaked floor and steady themselves. She adjusts the temperature and begins her routine of daily doodles on the shower door. This morning, she scribbles out lyrics from the chorus of a country song. Drops of water roll south, spontaneous punctuation to the tune of the morning's cowboy twang in her head. Fog filters up from the bottom of the shower. One by one the words drip into one and then disappear into the mist.