Cycling in the South Bay

I said, in a small and diffident voice, “Good morning.”

Her lips peeled back in a giant smile to show brilliant white teeth. “Good morning, sir!”

I sat down at the counter. Shortly, four young workmen entered. “Good morning!” they roared. And I do mean roared.

“Good morning!” the cook yelled from back in the kitchen. And I do mean yelled.

I recalled the years I lived in Japan, where a fundamental mark of politeness was the morning greeting, said not timidly but with power and conviction. Whence comes this morning hello?

Doubtless there was a time when morning meant foremost this: you were still alive. And life? It was good! And what better way to declaim on the bounty of your miraculous good, no, great fortune, the great fortune of survival, than to shout it joyously and with vigor to those you meet who, by definition, are just as lottery-ticket-lucky as you?

To begin your day with an utterance of joy? Spoken from the heart, shared with the world?

Good morning to you, too!

—–

END

Comments are closed.