The Dawn Chorus

Newborn sunlight streams through the crystal clear glass; the soft powdery hues of my bedroom reflect it back in a vivid and explosive way. Yet, the result is not jarring. Instead, it soothes me. I admire the beauty of it.

The windows are open and a faint breeze ruffles the curtains. I can scarcely feel its touch on my body - it’s the same temperature as my skin. Good morning, Sunday. The house is silent. I am alone. I close my eyes again to absorb it and concentrate on the absolute peace. The only sound comes from the dawn chorus of birds outside in the trees. Their song is perfect, natural harmony.

Clasping my hands together, I s-t-r-e-t-c-h my arms up over my head. Taking a deep inhale, I smell them, my early morning lovers: coffee and bacon. Someone has prepared breakfast for me, with fresh eggs from our hens, and left it on a tray beside the bed. It’s still hot. The steam from the coffee wafts and curls as it rides the gentle draft. Folded next to the cutlery sits the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle with an automatic pencil. I still can't do it in pen.

My husband is out, walking the dog. It’s just one of the ways he says, “I love you.”