June 5, 2022
It’s just after first light, the magical time. I pour a cup of coffee and step out on the patio into the cool morning air. Birdsong begins sporadically—first a tentative chirp, answered by another across the glen. Their friends gradually join the chorus, until the whole valley fills with joyful music, punctuated by the solemn call of a mourning dove in the distance.
There is no sign of last night’s lightning bugs above the dewy grass that now dampens my slippered feet. A spiderweb, heavy with moisture, connects a marigold to the garden fence. The sweet scent of a flower I can’t identify mingles with the steam rising from my cup. I settle into a chair to watch the day unfold.
Leaves rustle. I look up to watch squirrel acrobatics as they leap from oak to maple to tulip poplar, fifty feet above the ground. Sure-footed, they never miss a limb as they chase and chatter the morning awake.
The mountain to the northeast is silhouetted now as the day creeps up behind it. The sun peeks over the top and filtered rays backlight my squirrel show. A doe wanders into the yard, nibbling at the grass beneath the apple tree. She’ll be back when the apples appear, I’m sure.
I sigh my contentment and feel blessed.
The sun bursts out above the treetops and the dappled light turns brilliant and hits me square in the face, as if to say, “Okay that’s enough of this. You have things to do and places to go.” So I go, but I’ll be back.
(Photo by Alex Lauzon on Unsplash)