Picture of a Morning

Olive, the reddish brown bloodhound across the street is sitting up on her chaise lounge on the porch. She has a companion, a rottweiler who looks more vicious than Olive, but who only attacks when people are at the gate. Olive actually bit Neighbor last year. Now, though, she's chilling.

I'm taking a short break from my grant writing. Shadows of the maple leaves mottle the porch floor, and it's chilly enough to wear a fleece and down booties. The temperature feels a like a Berkeley summer morning--without the fog.

I hear birds, of course, a hum of traffic, and a rotating saw and hammering on the construction site around the corner. I feel like I'm going to sneeze.

I smell rosemary, which is seated beside me.

The sky is true Tar Heel blue.

Inside, Tucker is napping on the couch. His feet are twitching and he is whining like a little kid who doesn't want to do something... "Aww, I don't waaaaanna"

Our weeds are out of control in the front yard; I call it the freedom yard. Roomie planted all kinds of impatients, zinnias, basil, and other herbs in pots out here. If I weren't about to fill in grants explaining needs, goals, and outcomes, I would just sit and watch the day.