I'm alone on the back porch, unable to sleep past 6:30 am on a Sunday, with a sense that I'm the first human awake in my neighborhood. I am peaceful and grateful for this quiet time before a busy day of housework and family get togethers.
Savoring the aroma of my coconut-creamed coffee, it's surprisingly complementary to the smell of wet dirt in the yard, still damp from recent rains. Unfortunately the perfume of bug spray is in the air too because I didn't want to chance the bites of mosquitos that may be awake and hungry, like myself.
The touch of bug spray on my skin is oily and my hips are feeling the hard criss- cross pattern of an old wrought iron patio chair. There's not a wisp of wind so the humidity won't take long to escalate on this early August day. And just as soon as I finish writing that sentence, I'm surrounded by a cooling swirl of early morning air as if the dawn is rewarding me for writing about her.
Quiet is a misnomer really. I hear the drone of the air conditioning units and the spray of the automatic sprinkler in the yard behind us. I'm listening to a cardinal concerto as Mr & Mrs chase around the yard, chirping at each other with such fervor, I wonder if birds argue with each other. The mourning dove coos from the Bradford pear tree and grackles squawk amongst the fruitless mulberry limbs. The familiar "zzzzz" and peeps of dueling hummingbirds at the feeder is music to my ears.
As I look around the yard, I see the sparkle of the morning dew on the fuchsia and lavender blooms of the crepe myrtle bushes, as the rising sun greets a blue, cloudless sky.
I taste my coffee and the anise flavored pizelle cookie that accompanies my 2nd cup. Food memories of Nanas past are inevitable and that's one of the reasons that I buy the cookies, every time I find them. My breakfast, not the healthiest but the soul nourishment, vital.
Good morning. Thank you for another day.
Rose Marie B