I woke up early this morning. Sunlight streaked dappled and mellow through the two open western windows of my bedroom, and the boughs of my ancient ash tree brushed against the house with a soft swoosh. Birdsong echoed in from the trees and the breeze drifted over me, bringing with it the subtle scents of wildflowers, clover, and freshly cut hay from the fields beyond.
I got my thermos of coffee (left by Andrew who was up and out before the dawn), tossed on shorts and a tank top, and headed sleepily downstairs. Despite a late night of fireworks, the children were up eating breakfast and planning a day of adventure: I can hear them now through the windows as I sit here with the dog on the veranda, drinking coffee on a breezy, perfect, summer morning.