It’s o’dark-thirty here at home, and the world around me is just beginning to wake up. On my rural road no street lights shine, no porch lights peer from across the field. Even the easterly glow of Seattle from across the Sound is cloaked by the heavy rains and low cloud ceiling. Tree trunks and shrubby shapes appear when approaching high beams lead the way for speeding commuters, no doubt late for their ferry and/or espresso fix. As quickly as the light appears, it fades, along with the splashing sound of tires on the wet pavement. A clogged gutter spills over. The sputtering cascade of water acknowledges the accuracy of today’s weather forecast with each splash to the growing puddle below. My bulldog Boz snores at my feet and twitches from his dreams of hot pursuit. Gracie, his mate, does likewise, just upstairs in the warmth of my (make that her) down comforter. The furnace kicks on to warm the house and hopefully my toes, while the coffeemaker spits steam as it tops off the carafe.
It’s morning at my house, and morning has always been a friendly presence in my life. As an early riser, I love the quiet and the darkness and the promise of coming light. I love the world at peace and the intermittent rustling of the day before it takes itself too seriously. So join me for a cup of coffee, and let me be the first to wish you a good morning and a fine day. And if you’re not a morning person, please accept my apology (in a whisper) and I’ll check back with you later.