Gingerly placing toe on patio, shiver speeding up my spine, I pulled the blanket tighter. Tucking into chair for morning moments of precious, silent journal time. The morning was anything but silent.
A chill in the air compounded by fog lay heavy like a blanket not quite kicked off by sleepy Mother Earth. Cricket crescendos swelling in pulses, birds singing and stretching, traffic swooshing in the distance, and the thumping sound of highway workers displacing dirt in order to bypass the designated piece of earth.
The sun fought hard against the dark as it always does and won just the same. Bright hot light burning through the fog, lifting it now well above the trees. Everything becoming clearer, warmer, sweeter somehow. Flowers stretching and dropping their dew, bees buzzing, bringing to life their low humming tone.
I meant to journal for an hour. I really did. How is one supposed to concentrate with all this life going on around? Beautiful, masterful life.
Morning time. Magic time. My time.
