early morning

her sunday cry
is more of a misting, a peering
out her kitchen
window
with the cat.
green tea might be involved.
some early morning
stretching.
deep breathing.
but the tears come down.
she takes out an old
scrap book
to break the clouds open.
when she's finally
had enough.
she takes a walk to the park.
hands in
her pockets,
hat on.
the fall wind
swirling down her
open jacket, her sleeves,
giving her
a chill as she crosses
the empty street.