The day is beautiful, but the cold settles in tonight, down in the 30’s, and the next few days will be chilly.

There is something about mornings. Sunlight angles into my house from the front, and a beam of light shines on the floor below the door where the cats settle into the warmth. The air smells clean. Mornings are cooler. The sun has yet to have its way with the day. Dew makes the grass glisten and frost makes it crunch underfoot. When I get the papers on a cold morning, the first steps outside take my breath away. I used to be a night person, up all hours, but now I savor the mornings. I read my papers and drink my coffee and leisurely start the day.

Crisp fall mornings are my favorites. I remember walking to school. The sidewalk near the baseball fields had no trees to protect it, and a cold wind always blew across and made us run from there to the sidewalk beyond the railroad tracks, the part sheltered by tree branches and the houses along one side. I remember leaves strewn across the sidewalk. They were wet from the dew and clung to the walk. Yellow is the color I remember the most.

No matter where I travel, I love the early mornings. It’s when the tourists are all asleep and the world goes about its business. Store owners unfurl awnings or unlock gates and market women set up their wares. Trucks rumble on the streets and make deliveries. Nobody ever notices me. They’re too busy. I get to be a part of all I see.