This morning I took my coffee to the front porch to enjoy the soft morning breeze before the humidity kicks in. The wildflowers are all but spent, easily mistaken for tall, gangly weeds at this point, but the birds love this little patch of tall seeds, and because of them, so do I.
Soon enough obligations and responsibilities will have my focus, but not yet. First, let me sit with my strong coffee and listen to the songs of the birds and frogs, grateful for this new day. Let me be happy in the company of a sweet finch enjoying her breakfast just off the porch. It is a good morning.
May we all have opportunities to spend peaceful moments in lovely places with comfortable company.
Hello, Tuesday. It’s good to be here.
Just beyond the screen, these old oak trees are swaying softly in the humid morning breeze. Overall, it is cloudy here, but for maybe two seconds, the sun peeked through the soft gray sky blanket to reach the back porch.
Perhaps just a little wave or wink to say: Good Morning, I see you, I’m here, enjoy your coffee, enjoy the morning symphony, enjoy the wind in your hair, enjoy this day.
And then the sun seemed to soften a little as the clouds drifted back into place, perhaps the clouds are enjoying the morning as well.
Hello August. It’s good to be here.
This last Sunday of July 2018 has arrived on a soft breeze, refreshingly cool for summertime here. Early light is streaming through these old oaks, painting the morning in shades of green and gold as I wander around with my coffee, pausing in the patches of light for moments of prayer and gratitude. What a beautiful new day.
Sunshine, songbirds, soft breezes, and strong coffee.
Hello, Sunday. It’s good to be here.
Front porch seat, hot coffee, springlike breeze blowing summer flower scents through the sprinklety showers and downpours, goldfinches, cardinals, and a tiny little gray bird playing peekaboo from the hollies and oaks.
Seems like my weekend “to do” list has just been rewritten.
Hello, Saturday. It’s good to be here.
An ancient book of prayers, a not so old mandolin, and a hot cup of fresh coffee. It was among these things that I greeted this Tuesday morning. I could play the strings, but to do so would interrupt the morning chorus from the resident birds.
Perhaps another day I would attempt to play along, but not today. Today is the 93rd anniversary of my father’s birth, and I’m almost certain, if he was still here, he would set the mandolin down as well and opt for the back porch seat to the natural morning music
If I could share one scene from my day today with you all, it would be from the morning drive. Just off Snow Camp Road is a field full of green young leaves.
Maybe soybeans, maybe sorghum, beautiful and lush regardless. It’s not my usual route anymore, so I try to go a bit slower and take in the scenery a bit more.
It was movement that caught my attention today. A lovely doe and her fawn were making their way across the field, basically playing as they bounced through the plants. There were no cars around so I stopped to watch a few seconds.
They weren’t rushing. They paid me no mind. They seemed to be simply enjoying the fresh, relatively cool morning air together.
Note to self: Play more in the summer morning air. Well done, Monday. Well done.