Morning Time

Blasted by the morning sun. Eyes wide open, and somehow still I am tired.  I sit and await the first cries of the morning from the little one who is ready to wake and play.  The animals are out already, stretching and regrouping after the night's affairs.  In the distance, a large oak is loading up with sparrows, and the neighbor's horses are moving along the fence line. The white one has always looked like a majestic unicorn from a John Bauer tale.  The boys are rustling outside in the tent, which is now beginning to cook from the morning rays.  That is such a standard memory; sun in the tent, heated blankets, flies starting to land on your face, yet somehow it is only 7 AM.  Dew is drying now, and the coffee pot is finally performing its last morning rumbles.  The grout that is between the drunken bricks which Nancy laid 7 or 8 years ago for the base of our kitchen cabinets now houses a small spider.  He too is waking up and looking for the day's next meal.  Will he be the one eaten today, or will he be the hunter as per usual?  Slowly, the sun makes it way slightly higher into the sky, and the baby lets out morning time cries.  She is ready to get up and look for something to play with, something to do, a little activity or two that will intrigue her young mind.  Like all baby animals, she is ready to play this morning.  We are all eager to get up now, embrace the remainder of our day, and begin preparing for the rest of our lives.