It rained in the night,
I can tell by the morning traffic,
Tires rolling across wet pavement,
The sound a long slick of noise.
Cars are my wake-up crickets,
Sometimes a honk,
Even on the weekend folks are inpatient.
I get up, turn the kettle on for coffee,
Pee, then wash my face,
Settle back in bed waiting for the whistle of water boiling,
Cat snuggled on my torn and faded quilt,
Laying stretched over my legs,
She is excited by the noise left by night rain,
And swishes her tail against my elbow, ears erect.
Coffee, rain, and morning time,
The start of winter,
On the first Sunday of December,
In San Francisco;
Each sound is perfect.