this morning

It's my favorite time of the day, the space before all the household is awake, the space when I have the silent house to myself. It is one of the few times in the day that I will be able to hear the clock ticking, or listen to the sound of my own typing. The feeling of the morning is very insular. I am wrapped in my house, merely an observer of the world outside.

The sky is a single, solid light gray with wisps of clouds adding texture. It is hard to tell if I am hearing the drip of rainwater from the eves and the light wind, or if it is raining in ernest. A flock of wild turkeys is in the driveway. They started in the north pasture when I was drinking my first cup of coffee. Now I'm on my second, and they are nearly in my front yard.

The goats will stay in this morning and in the afternoon, the barn will be warm and full of soft bleating and the chewing of cud and horns butting against horns. It will be a damp day, the kind of day where your clothing never dries between forays into the mist-like rain that is too heavy to be mist and too light to be rain. The kind of day where you wear wool hats and sweaters, but even though you are damp and chilled it is too warm to be in layers and long sleeves all day. It's a day of rubber boots and tea and warm leftovers for lunch. It's a soft, seductive sort of weather that doesn't really interfere with daily activities but at the same time controls everything.

The turkeys are back in the north pasture now, headed towards the tree line. Grieg is playing softly, easing me into the day, and I can hear sounds of stirring in the rest of the house. I'll need something with more energy soon, if I'm going to actually wake up this morning.