It's a quiet morning here and even though its almost 8 a.m., the sun has yet to raise it's light. The room I sit in is dimly lit and the dogs are both gathered around me like we have snow outside. Winter has hit us, at least our minds. In the summer, we all pop out of bed as if we cannot waste another moment and then slowly, as the mornings darken, as our desert toes cool, we fall victim to resting cozy in bed.... for just another minute.
I love these mornings. I love the silence. The clock on the wall across, softly sings out the moment in a rhythmic way that offers more the comfort of home than the passing of time and my keyboard dances the sound of the words you find here. I drink my coffee from a mug made by a friend. The mug is beautiful, my friend an artists who has without doubt, honed his craft. Glazed to utter perfection, smooth, thoughtful- it makes everything taste better. The blanket wrapped around me is softer than silk and Indy scoots closer for extra warmth. Frank yawns and stands up.. only to reposition herself and plop right back down to close her eyes again.
There's no better morning than this.
Not for me.
Not for us.
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