Blinds wide open.
Morning Sky,
fresh from a good night’s rest,
looks in at me.
Words tap me on the shoulder
ready to play.
Barely awake,
without water yet to drink,
I listen and repeat the words I heard,
"What happens when the novelty wears off?”
and again
“What happens when the novelty wear off?”
Water, pen, and paper found,
the rest of the words flow forth…
What happens when the novelty wears off?
This novel thing.
This thing too brand new.
This thing in its infancy
crying out to us
that it is here.
New,
unusual in interesting ways,
all the rage,
until
we become weary
and
it continues to be
novel.
I pause,
sipping hot lemon water,
looking out the window.
Birds morning chirps go
unheard
By dogs walking people with
earphones stuffed in their ears.
What happens when the novelty wears off
and
what was new gets old
but
what was new is still novel
and
we don't know what to do with it
nor
does it know what to do with us?
At first
new is nifty
and sometimes scary.
New is all the rage
until sometimes enraged
our insides holler,
"Enough already!"
The ink, not yet dry.
The pages of this novel’s moment
not fully written,
This new kid on the block
still demanding attention,
What happens when the novelty wears off
but this brand new thing keeps emerging?
The virtue of patience breached,
like a whale leaping from oceans depths
puncturing the air above,
there is a moment where
novelty becomes normality.
Excitement wanes.
Boredom yawns.
Fear tires.
Impatience wins.
Numbness wears off
what shock
had anesthetized.
This thing,
still novel,
still there,
no longer new,
moves forward with us
Our focus shifts.
What it was born to do continues.
My hot lemon water now cold.
Tea lights burned to their quick.
Palo santo incense twirled unnoticed.
Morning Sky shines brighter.
Birds sing out this new dawn’s chorus.