A Certain Morning

"Certain mornings, on turning a corner, a delightful dew falls on the heart and then evaporates. But its coolness remains, and this is what the heart requires always." Albert Camus

There's something absolutely delicious about waking up early, really early, on a Sunday morning. No alarm. Just the birds calling, the occasional car, the soft whir of the ceiling fan. Weird little insect sounds. Curtains rustling gently. The foot falls and random bits of conversation of people out for a run. The coffee smell is tempting, but there is no rush to get up. Not at all. The Husband's up and out the door for a crack of dawn tee time. To simply lie in bed with a couple of cats curled up at one's feet, and know that you can get up or not get up. Go ahead. Lie there and let your mind drift in and out of sleep. Bask in the lovely early morning light. That is the very essence of a summer morning.

(Some would insist on adding Northwoods’ sounds, or lake sounds, to their ideal morning but not here. We're city folk here in MadgeWorld.)

Today is wide open. What to do? What to do? Something. Or maybe even nothing. Your ideal morning? Tell us about it. Inquiring minds want to know.

Enjoying: French Roast and whole wheat toast with peanut butter.
Current sounds: Airplane. Cicadas. Crows. Church bells. Neighbor’s annoying barking dog.