"I don't think anyone should write their autobiography until after they're dead.” Sam Goldwyn

mornings in portland are sly sneaky little things that amaze you with their delicacy of sight -sound-smell. the warbler that controls her territory from the top of the curly bark maple is singing, the trees still twinkle from the morning's foggy wetness and one smells the earth and leaves- better than the smell of coffee. So i awake to all this softness and walk down the short hall from the master suite and this is what I see through the tall gallery window in the main stairwell.

 

 

and so i ask who can be unhappy living here? Abi and i stop to admire the view, listen to mswarbler and then slowly descend into the real world for the morning rituals. she checks the perimeters of her territory- could walls have shifted in the night? would the fluffy gray scruffy cat have moved in? Is her cat perch still there and will the windows be opened or closed? I move to the pantry to gather the whole wheat bread and unsalted peanut butter which has been my morning meal for over 20 years.

 

both of us creatures of habit and both of us now ready for the small delights the day will bring. Morning all.