For seven months I rarely set an alarm, instead waking to the sounds of nature.
Bird calls, the patter of squirrels, rustling leaves or a gentle rain on the tin roof.
Later in the summer, as black walnuts dropped on to the slanted roof -- resulting in four knocks similar to someone at the front door -- I answered the front door a couple dozen times.
I'm clearly not that sharp.
Today in my new hotel environs, I awoke to another sound of nature: a yak trying to cough up a hairball.
As my head cleared, I realized it was unlikely a yak despite the diversity of Bloomington.
It turned out to be one of my new neighbors doing his morning expectoration outside my hotel door. He was trying to get rid of whatever he'd taken into his lungs over the preceding years.
I now have a phlegm alarm clock.
Now that I'm back in civilization, it will take some time to acclimate. I'm staying on a busy street, where early morning commuters have an inordinate amount of thrush exhaust pipes, meant only to be loud and obnoxious.
Yet, I'm pretty cool. I'm warm and welcomed. I'm safe and still quite fat for a homeless person.
I'll be OK.
Peace and expectorations unto all of you my brothers and sisters.