Dawn Glimmer

That's no little bite.

Looks like a big bite.

Dare we idle away another day debating where the little become the big?

Yes yesterday was plump with enjoyment; history will have a hard time rewriting that truth, subjective and relative as it is; wine flowed easy; flank regions remain sore thanks to those jokes, which cannot be called high brow humor but it was the way the jokes were told, lending credibility to the old saying about it not being about what is told but the way what is told is told.

Hello? Has this expression been communicating to empty air? Empty world? Empty space? What happened to a table with yesterday's remnants?

Has it only been the songbird outside greeting dawn's fresh glimmer?

Must get the memory reserves running. Something is not making sense. Whatever were those words about bites, big bites, little bites, relative bites, about? Cake? Steak? The longer this subjective presence lingers the more foreign the setting seems.

Now the songbird has concluded dawn's glimmer tune of greeting. Must be an ancient, no not even ancient, as ancient regards human civilization; primordial, must be a primordial melody, handed down from songbird to songbird, or who knows a prehistoric reptile did not compose the melody?

Seems hard to not look at the word Scales. Rather significant difficulty is not present in looking or thinking the word Scales - or scale - no, let it remain plural. Scales of music. Scales of a reptile. Bird legs; leggings of the pretty feathery birds, singing their dawn's glimmer greeting, which must originate from some scale.

Now this is unbelievable. Whatever just passed by the window, rather not so near the window but which was just visible through the window; legs suddenly fraught with trembles, daring to not walk to the door to see, to verify what appeared to zoom across the sky, and not so distant either. Again it zooms by.

Fish? Flying fish? Mackerel? Marlin? Tuna? The shelf where the knowledge is kept safe within hard covers requires extrication from this room which appears to be for dining, though why it still feels foreign remains elusive, because the shelf, rather those several shelves, well, they would be in a reading room or den.

Now that distant dog is barking. Wait. Dog. Tuna. Fish. Song. Reptilian scales. Now it begins to come back. All this was about breakfast? Remains about breakfast? Yes the morning meal had begun, but the dog demanded the ritual quick outing. Persisted in insistence. Had to leave the breakfast unfinished.

But that doesn't make sense either. Yes the toast fits. But who fixes a toasted tuna sandwich for breakfast? Or maybe this was never about tuna or breakfast. Maybe this was all about the scales. Or not even the scales but about how oddly coincidental it is that birds, who are feathered, have scales, and reptiles have scales. The dog has no scales. Yet fish have scales. What are a bird's feathers anyway but softened scales? They lay across the body exactly as do scales. Wonder if human hearing could hear more, if humans would recognize that reptiles also can sing a tune or...

Now another voice, this voice human - humans have no scales, as the dog I walked has no scales - hairs, hairs, follicles... Voice draws nearer, or not nearer but clearer, as though it was always near. Now someone yells. Pierces what feels like a bubble or balloon.

"Charles!"

Oh it is them. Both of them. One of them thieved a bite of toast. Now it comes back.

"Charles! Are you lost in those daydreams again?"

"He didn't even notice his sibling snatching a bite of toast from his plate."

"A little bite. The most buttery bite."