Posted tagged ‘sweet air’

“I must have flowers, always, and always.”

May 7, 2017

This morning’s sky is the deepest of blues, a breathtaking blue. Not a cloud can be seen. I figure it is Mother Nature’s way of apologizing to us for all that rain, two days worth. The air is a bit chilly, only 54˚. It will get a little warmer but won’t break 60˚. It’s is after all spring on Cape Cod.

The trees are flowering on my street, some white, some bright pink. Gardens are filling with blooming flowers. The air smells sweet. Small leaves are growing on the scrub oak trees. I walk Gracie to the backyard several times a day. She always stops on the front lawn and sniffs the air. Any noise grabs her attention. At our 4:30 this morning walk to the backyard, she sniffed a bit then hurried to the gate. She ran into the backyard and squatted right away. We both went back inside and we both fell asleep. I woke up around 7:30. Gracie is back to sleep. It is her morning nap time.

My dance card has been really empty for the last few weeks, and the only dance this week is a library board meeting. The laundry is done, the trash has gone to the dump, and the house is clean. My deck still has its winter look, but that will change in the next week or two.

Gracie and I just came inside. The wind is blowing enough so I can hear all the chimes from my backyard trees. It is a chilly wind.

Spring energizes me. A warm day gets me out of the house so I don’t miss it. It is the same feeling I remember having as a kid. I felt free somehow. Gone was the heavy coat. Gone was walking backward into the wind on freezing cold mornings. Spring always made me want to skip.

“Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.”

July 2, 2012

Monday still carries a bit of gloom about it even though I’ve been retired for so long. The Monday horror of the alarm abruptly pulling me from dreamland after two glorious days of sleeping in, the tiny Monday papers and the start of yet another work week dissipates slowly. It took 35 years for the weekday resentment to build, and the older I got, the more difficult  it was to drag myself out of bed. I loved my job but, on Mondays, I loved it the least.

I am not a morning person. I love the late nights when I am the only one awake, and everything is quiet. When all the houses around me are dark, I feel as if the night is mine. I’d probably be a great vampire if they really existed. I’d have no problem sleeping all day; however, the biting and the blood would be drawbacks. In Ghana, I actually liked the mornings and didn’t need an alarm clock. The roosters worked just as well, maybe even better as they didn’t need electricity or batteries. It was in the mornings when my school compound came most alive. I could hear the swishing sounds of brooms as students cleaned and swept the grounds then I’d hear the water from the taps splashing into their buckets and the clangs as the students hauled their buckets to the stalls where they’d take their bucket baths. Little kids walked by on their to the primary school and greeted me as I sat outside to drink my coffee. The morning air was always the sweetest and the coolest.

I love mornings in other places, wherever I travel.  I remember Santa Fe and getting to the square early in the morning where I sat and drank my coffee and  watched the Indians set up their wares in front of the Governor’s Palace. I watched store owners sweep the walks in front of their establishments and realized sweeping is a universal. In Portugal I watched trucks unloading fish and produce in front of shops and stores. I ate fresh rolls and drank strong coffee as I walked. Most places are best seen in the early morning when people are going about their business and the day is unfolding.


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