The sun breaks through the bones of the winter trees warming stubborn birds that don’t seem to care about the bitter wind. It is still, cool and quiet, the rush has already passed. Morning commuters have already stumbled through their morning routines of coffee and emails. Now the calm returns and the rows of houses sit quiet again.
The pale turquoise chalk board above begins to come to life with icey trails of planes writing about their adventures across the sky as some of us gaze dreamily out our windows. What will today hold?
The snow has begun to melt, dashing grey squirrels dig through the edges to seek out a morning meal not caring about the stealthy feline watching their every moves. They seem to move in ways to tease the cat, flittering their tails like fanciful feathers on strings that normally send the feline into a frenzy. She has no choice, behind the coolness of the glass the cat is held prisoner to her desires and is no threat to the tasty creature she longs to capture.
The tasks waiting should probably begin, though the desire to do them has little effect on movement. The enjoyment of much awaited for quiet times holds much more antecedence than mountains ever could.
For now, this is my time. The quiet washes over my as daydreams take flight. Rare are the days where the house sits empty and I have time to wander through it without urgency. Fluffy socks, ponytail, and comfort are the uniform of the day, no need to impress. Few too little days like this.
Through the window the lemon rays of morning wake my senses and start to recharge my batteries.
Time to begin my own routine of life.