Silently, I wake up. Stretch. Quietly slip from between the covers. Test my knee. Feeling stronger.

Barefoot, I pad into the kitchen. Only a slight limp remains, a lingering memory of life’s aging presence. Healing now, I walk with greater ease.

Beaumont the Sheepadoodle lays, full body sprawled out, on the sofa in the living area.He likes the coolness of the leather in summer’s heat. Momentarily, he eyes me through one open eye. Closes it and returns to his slumbers.

Smiling, I cross the dining area and open the deck door. Beyond where I stand, the day unfolds like flower petals opening beneath morning’s welcome. Birds chitter amidst green leaves rustling on the line of poplar trees separating our property from the river’s edge, their outstretched branches reaching for the blue sky stretching into infinity. The quiet gurgling of the river flowing creates a soothing background symphony to the hum of distant traffic.

I stand in the open doorway and breathe it all in.

What a glorious morning.

Silently, I turn away, walk into the kitchen, fill the kettle and turn it on. Empty yesterday’s grounds from the French press into the compost bin. Grind fresh beans. Scoop the freshly ground coffee into the press.

It’s a three-scoop kind of morning.  Clear blue sky. Silky cool breeze dancing on a moving tapestry of light and water kind of awakening.

While the kettle boils, I slip my feet into loafers, put Beaumont on his retractable leash and head out the front door for his morning constitutional.

Mission accomplished, I return to our yard, wrap his leash around the base of a planter, turn on the hose and water the flower pots.

Beau sits in silent communion watching me, the yard, the cul de sac where our house sits, everything around him. Other than a Chickadee hopping from branch to branch in the lilac bush above his head, the world around us sleeps on.

I fuss with the positioning of a couple of pots on the steps to our front door making sure the colour palette is just right. From where he sits at the front of the yard, Beau is unfazed by my flowerpot ministrations. A dog on a mission, he’s on rabbit watching duty.

And then, pots repositioned, flowers watered, hose returned to its rack, I stand in the ephemeral glory of the morning, close my eyes and breathe in. Deeply. Hold. Exhale. And again. Breathe in. Deeply. Exhale. Repeat.

Morning embraces me. The clinging vestiges of night’s cool air, the scent of lilac, the riotous peonies unfolding in deep red splendour, the sweet melody of the chickadee, the rustle of the leaves cascading through light dancing on water, the distant hum of the city, all of it connecting me, pulling me into nature’s joyous morning dance.

I breathe in Life.

Exhale gratitude.

Open my eyes.

The world shimmers with joy inviting me to dance within nature’s infinite beauty.

I breathe in Life.

Exhale gratitude.

Morning has broken.

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I don’t usually post on Saturdays, but, after reading the quote from American poet, William Stafford, that accompanies the exquisite morning photo posted on Live and Learn today, I felt inspired to capture the ephemeral beauty of my morning.

Thank you DK for the inspiration.