The Magic of Morning

Five-thirty A.M.

I feel a paw on my arm, a scratch at the side of the bed. Charley.
Groaning softly, I open one eye to peer at the clock.

“Ohhh Charley, not yet, I have fifteen more minutes!”

Persistent pawing. Suddenly the patter of little feet in the hallway – Oliver!

Oliver doesn’t know how to bark to go out, but the moment he is awake he stands at the back door, desperate for his morning pee. Charley is trying to tell me that her brother needs out.

Pulling coat over pjs, I step out the door letting four furry-coated canines barrel on ahead. Instead of the frost that the cold temperatures the night before had hinted at, there is a wonderful warm wind blowing, gustily swirling leaves about my feet. It is reminiscent of my years in Alberta when the Chinook winds would suddenly sweep away the mind-numbing cold.

The sky is clear, and the stars have been generously sprinkled across the sky like the glitter from a child’s hand as she makes her Christmas crafts. Purple and blue and black shadows appear in bas relief, neighbouring homes and barns visible now that the last of the leaves have fallen.

Even the dogs enjoy this warm morning magic. Oliver bounces up and down the driveway, head high and bum wagging, silently expressing his delight while the others run nose-to-ground checking out the scents of critters who have crossed our yard while dogs and human slept.

The magic of morning, the promise of a day to enjoy – does life get any better than this?