Ezan

Lately, I keep remembering the first time I heard the morning call to prayer in Istanbul.
I remember waking up to a haunting, tinny, megaphone song floating in through our hotel window.
I remember being confused and scared for a few seconds ... until I was awake enough to realize that I was in Turkey and it was normal. 
I remember my mind turning - as it does - to the things it wanted to be anxious about on that trip (bird flu, political violence, money, homesickness).
I remember the sheets on the hotel bed - a comforter covered with a clean, white duvet and no top sheet.
I remember sitting up and looking out the window and the sky being silvery gray with mist and the cool light that comes before dawn.

It’s been 9 years but suddenly it is as if it happened last Tuesday.