Best time to walk the dog?
Early morning when the air is crisp and pungent with the the mix of smells and aromas from the grasses, the apple and cedar trees, the late summer flowers.
Bo is interested in that squirrel scrambling up the tree, the tasty treats (we call them bugs) on the ground and those smells only he's aware of. I want to stop listen to the few birds that are talking, the far away sound of cars on the highway, the silence of the trees around me.
He wants to go.
I woke up before the alarm, again, to the sound of the sandhill cranes to the east discussing something. Weather? Which route to take today? Who leads? Is there a leader? I don't know. Their call transports me millions of years ago. I try to imagine this land that I live on before people were here. Before the ice age that changed everything for this place. I can't.
Every morning is special here. If I can get up early enough, I can own the silence. At the end of August there's an urgency to get up early and not miss one. Winter is coming, and it's just as wonderful to sip my coffee outside on a brilliant blue sunny winter morning, but the moments don't last like today's.
When I can sit outside on my painted bench and take a Door County mini vacation.