Soft, Cool, Content.

As I was lying in bed last night, with the window open just a couple of inches, I heard the wind outside, rustling the trees, and felt the faintest movement of cool air on my face, and I smiled into the darkness of my room, and felt at peace.

When I woke this morning, the chill of night had been replaced by a wintry sort of sunshine, but the trees were still rustling, though with more force than they had. If you close your eyes, the leaves sound like the ocean, sometimes. Or maybe it’s the ocean that sounds like trees. Aren’t all things just a matter of perception?

I spent a good twenty minutes sitting on a cushioned lounge chair sipping tea, this morning. The tea was mint, the sun was just warm enough to be soothing, and I noted that even here, farther south than I have ever lived, in warmer temperatures than I am accustomed to, the light is paler, cooler, and yet, somehow softer, because it is December.

The girl-dog came to ask for attention, jumping onto the small space of cushion between my feet, sitting for a moment, then licking my hand and wandering off to explore the great dog mysteries that are hidden beneath the ivy that grows against the back fence.

The boy-dog came next, and in the sun I realized how grey he is really starting to be, a small breed, prematurely old because of his wonky brain chemistry (he is epileptic). He sat on my lap, and let me scratch behind his ears, run my finger between his eyes and down his muzzle, rub his belly. Then he padded off to stretch on the sun-warmed boards of the deck, and bask, the way only chihuahuas and cats know how.

As mornings go, it was pretty close to perfect.