The breakfast nook brightens, suffused with impertinent sunlight, arrogant, intrusive, disrupting dystopian anticipations to dare yield the repressed, now untethered from their despondent moorings: grinning, chubby-faced sunflowers electing a cadenced dance, the pump, pump, pump of Hip Hop thumping behind bodega counters, the ponies of Assateague, slick with lather and hope, denuded thighs shifting in languid heat atop hillocks of powdered sand, the Jack Russell hurtling skyward, disc clenched, her smooth white coat suspended against nimbus curls tossed carelessly upon a blue-black canvas, Aquinnah, hallowed, striated escarpment, resplendent at the shank of day, fireflies, ice cream, and the irresistible beckon of the evening pines that rock to the day’s completion, whistling, familiar, reassuring.