She wakes, not by the traditional sounds of an alarm, with the extreme buzzing, or overly caffeinated talk show host, babbling on about the weather. She hugs her pillow, curls her toes and slowly open and closes her eyes as they adjust.
She doesn't turn on the radio, although she does remind herself that she is an old soul and misses her radio. She begins to hum as her long hair falls along her back and the collar of her pajama shirt goes over her head. She notices that her right foot taps to the beat only she hears in her head. Slowly she breaks in to a quiet rumba but checks over her shoulder knowing no one would ever see her but her confidence is still growing.
The music progressively gets louder as she walks down the stairs, barefooted on the cold studio floor she adores. She tosses her mobile phone to the side while she ties her hair back and brushes her teeth. She turns on the hot water and watches the steam fog the mirror, she then glides her finger across the screen and chooses her "artist of the morning". She lets the steam fill her lungs while the sounds of the clave make imprints on her soul.
She whispers as the water falls over face and begins to pray. She begins by giving thanks for all of her blessings. Her family. Her friends. Her career. Her hearing; for if it were not for that simple sense, she would not ever know the love she has for music and dance. She smiles, and her ears begin to drown by the sounds of the music on the other side of the glass doors.
"Amen", she says. "For You have blessed me with yet another day."
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