A day off, well sort of, a morning off, well sort of, at least until ten.

What does it matter, as long as there are moments to write and read.

Each day holds promises of connection, and I have already connected

to the sunrise.



This time of year the sun first hits the tops of the trees and then slowly

climbs down their trunks into the pond. A pond that is of such beauty

that it gives me pause to wonder why one of our neighbors plots to destroy

it. Especially since all they seem to want is access to a barbecue grill they haven't used for ten years.