Mornings are special. At least to me.

When I am not off at work to pay the bills I relish mornings at home. CJ is usually curled up catlike at the end of her couch–barefooted under her pink blanket.

I go over, kiss her on her ears and cheek, imbibing her morning smells, then drink my cup of black coffee she has made for me on the coffee bar, then make my way to my library to read. If I’ve not let Lady, our Cavalier King Charles, out, I do that, too.

Then I place Lady in her chair beside me, and open whatever books I’m reading for the week. This week it’s Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Word of Staggering Genius and Watson’s book of short stories, There Is Happiness.

Watson’s fiction moves me deeply due to his love of nature, the ache inside his characters, and his grasp of human brokenness amidst life’s fractured beauty.

As I took a break from reading I stepped out to water the trees. Some does were grazing on acorns behind the house and a healthy buck was out front, looking at me and I was looking at him.

Yes, mornings are special. At least to me.