Sunday Mornings

June 07, 2009

Sunday Mornings

French-pressed coffee. Black. Tony Bennett on the iPod. The funnies out of the Sunday paper. Sitting under a quilt, because the clouds have cooled things off this weekend. Kip curled up at my feet.

Good stuff.

I love Sunday mornings. It's the only morning of the week that is meant for relaxing. This is the morning I'm most likely to make eggs benedict or strawberry-banana pancakes, and we can actually sit down together and have a leisurely breakfast.

And then the whole day lays before us. There's nothing we have to do today, so I can see some sewing going on, maybe a little "dirt therapy" in the garden. Followed by a nap. Mostly, we just do whatever suits us on Sundays. Sometimes, it's a whole lot of nothing. Those may be my favorite Sundays.

But for now, it's Sunday morning. I've got the windows open, although it's cool outside. But it's not raining, and I love hearing the birdsongs. Kip lays on the rug by the glass patio door. The door's open to the screen door, and he's got his nose right to the mesh, it's working double-, triple-time with all of the Sunday morning smells...damp grass, faint jasmine blossoms, pine. Our blue jay swoops down to the table, catching Kip's attention, a quick bark, "Hey, get off the table, Blue!", then he lazily lays back down on his rug. Master of his domain, King of the Patio Garden.