The sky was already light when James and I awoke. The air was still brisk and the grass damp as I pulled on my boots to go check on my little garden, and James' squirming stopped after we stepped out the door because he just loves being outside. My steps left a dark path through the grass as we trekked down to our little plot. It was a gorgeous morning.
We stopped by the strawberries and rhododendrons to lick and feel the leaves. (James did the licking.) While I thinned the bush beans, James patted and swung at my shoulder, and the grass clung to my boots. It was a productive morning.
The wood grain shone with new life on our freshly power-washed porch. I was sipping tea from a mug and reading these words...
"The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are
covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing."
It was a fresh morning.
The starlings were out and chasing each other across the yard. Their calls to each other rang out in the stillness. It was a quiet morning.