Thoughts in my head upon awakening this morning: Sundials and tooth banks.
But the image in my mind was of a sundial with the minute and hour counters around the outside edge marked by human teeth. Molars, mostly. They made jagged shadows along the eastern edge of the dial as the rising sun caught them.
Then came the thought “tooth banks?” followed immediately by the image of a bank vault filled with billions of teeth.
I sat up, toed my slippers on and picked up the little notebook I keep by the bed. “Morning whimsy,” I wrote. “Sundials + tooth banks.” A smile. “Tooth dials + sun banks?”
Now I imagined a bank building filled with bright, cleansing sunshine. Then a sunny, wildflower-dotted embankment along the edge of a road. California poppies, glowing impossibly golden-orange.
“Sun banks.” Finally, the memory came of sitting in the windy, cool sunshine the grass on the side of the sea dike in Bremerhaven, Germany, watching the tall ships – three-masted windjammers – glide by on the Weser River, headed for the open waters of the North Sea.
I shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee, smiling.