It’s chilly, but not cold.
There is a fine mist covering each individual blade of grass, making them acutely beautiful, which is to say, I’m noticing them, each and every one, and I’m smiling at the simplicity juxtaposed with the complex beauty nature is. I turn to the other side, where my overgrown garden still holds several flowers in oranges and pinks and lilacs. The same delicate mist shimmers from the stalks and leaves and petals. In the middle, a spider has spun its web. I might not have noticed but for the sheen on each strand of silk. No sign of the spider. I guess she’s still asleep.
It’s so still. There are hardly any cars and the air is crisp and clean and smells faintly of dill and cucumber. And salt. The ocean is a twenty minute drive from me but I can still smell it. It something I love about living here; the air smells.
The sun is just over the tree tops now, but if I look carefully, I can still see hints of pink and orange in the sky. The few clouds are golden. It looks more like a painting than reality.
I close my eyes for a minute and just breathe. For someone who is traditionally not a morning person, this has to be a favourite moment in life. Just me. Standing outside soaking in the morning. I don’t mind right now that it’s early. I don’t even mind that I’m the only one up in my house, besides the dogs of course. I am only thinking of this: the dew on the lawn, the smells in the air, the painting of a sky and the fact that all things considered, I am pretty happy.
It’s going to end, of course, this moment. And it does. I get in my car, drive to order my coffee and head into the city for work.
But something about taking those few moments before doing anything else today has changed me. Just a little. My drive takes me by a large river and I notice today the diamonds of sunlight dancing on the surface and how crystal clear the water looks. I see the beads of happy perspiration on the smiling jogger that runs by my car. I sing louder to the radio, and I notice the birds, the currents of air flitting past my face. It all makes me so very happy.
I arrive at work and for the first twenty minutes, I am alone. I open the front blinds and let the now much higher sun stream it’s warm light in and over the seats of the waiting room.
I don’t usually like mornings.
But this morning was a symphony. And I loved it.