I toss in the usual morning way. Because I should be getting up soon, I am especially feeling comfortable in bed. As if staying there is the most wonderful thing, as if I could do this for hours, as if getting up belongs to another time, another place.
One eye open. I glance out the window. Ah, the mist rising last night has found a home for the morning. I can see wisps of it.
I should go out and take a photo.You should.
I should.Go out and get your photo. Go, you like doing that.
I should. Toss, burry into the bed. Sigh. Get up.
Maybe I should take Rosie out. There’s a lot more distance that can be covered in case the fields just next door aren’t at their morning best.
We head east on the road. Nice!
The farmhouse is maybe a mile or two from a lake. I tell Rosie – we’re going to the lake!
Oh, really, if I could paint, I would, right here, right now.
Slowly we head back, doing a small loop back to the farmhouse. And now the fields of corn are so golden, so perfectly Septemberish.
The sun has broken up the ribbons of foggy air. But a few strands remain. Rosie and I pause and watch. How can you not.
Back we go to the farm.
It’s going to be a warm day. I’ll get going soon enough, but first, a few more minutes in a morning sleep, replaying the images from the morning ride.