Mornings

Mornings. I love mornings. Right now I am overlooking Haro Strait in early spring with the sun rising behind Mount Baker. The morning is cold but the sun already has enough heat to warm my cheek as I watch the ship traffic. Steaming cup of coffee.

Mornings have always been my time. Even the dog is still trying to keep his eyes shut after a perfunctory tail thump. It's quiet. I've woken in a rocking anchorage at sun up and even the birds have stopped bickering as the first heat of day spreads across the bay. Steaming cup of coffee.

The smell of coffee perking (there's a word from the past), is the smell of plans being made, courses being plotted, finances sorted. Warm up that diesel engine while the coffee is on. The soft rumble of the diesel is almost as pleasant as that steaming cup of coffee.

Mornings are a promise of new things to come once the chores are done. Sometimes small adventures or new people are on the way, unbeknownst. Adventure can be found every day in the most ordinary of circumstances. Not anus-clenching adventure to be sure, but adventure just the same. Steaming cup of coffee.

Morning has started and others are stirring. The river otter has brought her kits out for breakfast and the turkey vultures are soaring as the ocean breeze kicks up. The engine is warm. Steaming cup of coffee.