A Fine Spring Morning at Home

Spring came quietly into my life. Usually I am aware of the first day of any season, but I learned it was Spring by a message from my sister.

Snow still cushions the tops of the south hills against this morning's sky of blanched blue. I open our front door to watch the the east filling up with orange light over the fields. Sage and I watch the silhouettes of the neighbors' dogs Bella and Porkchop chasing each other in the wet grass.

I close the front door and walk to the back door, sliding it open to let Sage out. In my bathrobe, I step outside. The cold smooth concrete is pleasant against my naked feet. A rooster calls out and almost immediately a cow does too, as though they are saying good morning to each other. The birds are all singing their songs they sing, and the horses stand still and steady in the rising sun.

It is a fine morning. The air reminds me of waking up in my sleeping bag. Drawing the zipper open and pulling on layers. Collecting twigs and starting fire with sleepy eyes and waking hands.

I think I shall go out to make a fire now.

Good morning.