The best part of the day. Morning.
As I take clothes from the line, the moment of simplicity washes over me. Birds sing from hedges. A cool breeze. A plane buzzes overhead. In the distance, even the droning traffic is blissful. Hear the leaves rustle softly. Later in the day, afternoon heat will silence their sweet voices. Bees are humming around blossoms. Parenting scrub jays search for morsels to feed their screeching brood. Pestering cats must be shooed and clapped away. I've already blessed the garden with a morning shower, discovered the first grapes and a smiling Buddha drenched in sunlight.
These peaceful interludes are inspiration. Tapping deep into my soul and pushing me to write. Sit quiet in this garden temple. Sip tea and watch morning unfold. The raucous mockingbird dances above the power pole. One small voice, a hummingbird. I quickly turn my head to see. To hear. The pack of bees is growing. Blue flowered branches bounce under their persistent explorations. A honey bee wards off a much larger carpenter bee. A thirsty scrub jay sips from the water bowl.
A momentary rest, I lift my head from the notebook. Endlessly entertained, that crazy mockingbird calls and leaps. I stretch. My wayward hand elicits gentle notes from the wind chimes.
Each day, rising almost with the sun, I beg myself to stay nestled in sleep. But morning waits! Zzyzx is already catnapping. Nothing about her 17 years, it's #whatcatsdo! I nuzzle her, scratch under her chin and disturb her daily sabbatical. All parts of this hallowed respite. Then she finds me as I end this post as it began -- meditating on my garden view.