I’ve decided mornings are okay with me. Not that I ever had anything against them. It’s just lately, I’ve been so bored and all, I’ve been trying to discover what I’m just so plumb upset about in the world. I found myself complaining when it came time for school to start up again. For those of you wondering, I’m not in school anymore. But the 17 year old girl-woman I share a room with is. And her cell alarm goes off promptly at 4:46 am for her to pop into the shower. An hour later it goes off again and she pulls her towel swathed head out of bed and moves on to the hair drying, flat ironing, make up and whirlwind of clothes selection necessary each morning to accomplish a day at school. We’ve come to a comprimise. She can turn on the lights but she has to use the hairdryer in the bathroom…and I’d prefer if she didn’t turn on the radio. Although, I am big enough to admit sometimes she has it on quietly and it does not to disturb me and I enjoy it. But only sometimes.

There always comes a magical time on weekday mornings. Around 7:30 am, everyone is required to be at their respective highschools and galleries. Except my brother, Cole, who is still normally asleep – but quietly. No snoring from that one. I sneak out of bed and watch the sun light up the pastures behind my house and hit Rattlesnake Mountain to bring forth a golden and emerald glow you wouldn’t believe a desert capable of. There is no television and even our kittens are still curled up in small niches around the house. It doesn’t matter for a few minutes that friendships are stones falling from my dejected hands, or the phone is still silent from the end of prospective employers. I’m satisfied to drink coffee from pristine new white coffee mugs my mother has bought as an early wedding present. Don’t ask…I don’t understand her either.

Autumn mornings are the best, in my opinion. I’m laughing while I write this, I’m sure in a few months I’ll swear up and down you can’t beat a winter morning. But in the rapidly ascending autumn, it isn’t a blazing 85 degrees by the time I get out of bed. It’s still a cool 66, with a lovely promised 76. The seventies are such a glorious temperature. Only second to the sixties. I’m a cold person. In the autumn mornings, the wind is already beginning to skip through the few fallen leaves on the still green grass. The house is content with its windows open and the air conditioning off. And your breath is no longer filled with hints of sweat and chlorine, but of woodsmoke, home made soup, and new shoes on their way to school.

An autumn morning is the entire world stretching. No more basking in the hot summer sun and dangling its toes in the Columbia. Gone are the endless hours of the ability to do nothing – now it wakes to a schedule. But an autumn morning is okay with this. There is something infinitely graceful in an autumn morning handing off the hours to a busy autumn afternoon simply to allow an autumn evening the pleasure of feeling accomplished.

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