Mornings at the lake

For years I started my workday so early in the morning, I'd have the building to myself. I always rose early on weekends, so I'd have solitude before Dave got up, before the cats begged for breakfast, before the routine intruded.

When we're at the lake, I get up quietly so I don't wake him, make coffee, and take my first mug down to the lakeshore. I'm always the first one at the water's edge, saying "hello" to the day.  Early in the morning, the lake is calm and quiet. Fish are rising, sometimes there are tiny fish schooling near shore. Most mornings there's an early fisherman is casting his line. And some mornings the lake is gone, shrouded in mist, doing a disappearing act.

Early in the morning, the sounds of the day, nature's sounds, are enough for me. In the morning, in this place, the world speaks to me in its own way, through the breeze moving through the trees and the birds singing in the trees.

I sip my coffee, and think about the coming day. I can relax here, think here, write here. In this place, my own little bit of lakeside heaven.