Breathe. I inhale the cool morning air. I cough as it tickles my lungs. I can see the snow covered mountain tops, glistening not far away from where I stand on my deck. A sparrow perches in front of me, starring intently, it chirps as it gazes at me. I smile.
Breathe. This time I smell fresh grass and the smell of dirt that the morning breeze carried over. I can hear the chirping of little birds and a dog barking somewhere in the distance.
The sun makes everything look clean and crisp this morning. This would be the perfect morning to hang laundry on the clothes line, especially bedsheets.
The Weeping Willows are starting to colour again, this is my favourite tree. Their graceful and sorrowful branches and stems reaching downwards as if desperately trying to conceal itself from the world; only to discover by doing this, it has only become more beautiful.
The hillsides sleek in fresh green patches, from a distance they look like they are covered in soft smooth velvet, and my hands ache to smooth over them. Some of the hills are dotted with black specks,cows. Grazing the new grass and slowly walking to the next spot for a sweet taste.
The leafless trees starting to bud their innocent new leaves all simultaneously as if they know it’s safe to show themselves to the world.
Breathe. I can smell somebody’s breakfast. I wonder if there is a morning cooking frenzy happening in their kitchen. With frying pans laden with egg residue and drippings from fresh waffle batter strewn on countertops and dotting the floor. I wonder if their kids are playing in couch cushions, still in their pyjamas waiting for the breakfast call. Maybe there are no kids. Maybe the mister is making a divine breakfast in bed for his darling. They’ll read the morning paper , and fumble with trays and coffee cups to cooperate on the clumsy bedding. They’ll laugh as they spill coffee on the freshly washed sheets.
Breathe. I sip my coffee which is quickly getting cold in the breeze. Time to start the day.