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I awake to gentle morning sunbeams splayed across my bed. A chill greets my consciousness as I rise and head for my morning suisse mocha. With lazy, relaxed effort, I scramble some eggs, butter some toast. I wrap my body in a warm robe, snuggle my feet into a pair of fuzzy puppy dog slippers, and park myself out on the deck.

Breakfast always tastes better out here. The reds and golds and oranges of autumn tease me. I gaze out over the valley and will the splendor into my eyes. I smile. What else can I do? Autumn lends me here quiet peace, her vibrant heart, and her not-so-subtle news of coming snow. For now, though, this day delivers the best the season offers.

I dress quickly. That anticipation of crunching leaves underfoot and the musky smells of the forest finds itself satisfyingly sated as soon as I’m in the woods. Cool, crisp air begs my heart to soar and sing. Pathways hidden by summer’s foliage jump forward and beckon my feet. I oblige, oblivious of anything but the sounds, the sights, the smells.

Eventually I turn back to the rustic cabin, spacious enough for my tastes, but no ostentatious spectacle. A cooler hint of winter kicks a breeze to my back, so I stoke up the ashen fire from last night in the fireplace. Soon, a cracking, dancing fire warms my world.

I sit behind my computer screen, log onto my webinar, and spend the next hour helping five aspiring writers take major steps closer to their dream. The energy shared by the six of us could power our equipment. Seeing not only determination on their faces, but excitement and belief as well, pumps my creative adrenalin.

After an hour that feels like minutes, I pluck my laptop up and kick back on my long and languid couch. I feel the muse within. I must meet her. She comes to me in waves of excitement, danger, romance, tragedy, comedy, adventure. A smorgasbord of writing delight finally broken by a knock at my door.

I realize hours passed us by, my lover – the muse – and I. I shake out my somewhat creaky bones on my trek to the door. I swing it wide and get lost in four individual hugs from my children. The noise of their entrance shouts at once a cacophony and familiarity. Warm memories flood my soul of their younger years. I smile. What else can I do?

We fire up the grill. Ten hands work at a sumptuous feast. We eat. We drink. We plan ski trips. We play games. We talk into the wee hours of the night before each tucks themselves into warm beds.

An autumn moon greets my gaze. A midnight reverie of love, passion, life, friendship, solitude, and peace. A midnight moon to welcome dreams. A midnight moon to silently serenade a joyous soul who otherwise would not fall asleep. With midnight in my heart, I gently kiss the perfect day goodnight.

As has become the custom on this blog, a poem – first draft…


Perfect Days

Perfect days do not just happen
Perfect days know no accident
Perfect days experience craftsmanship
Perfect days benefit from massage

Built by words of love and tenderness
Built by life experiences and wonders
Built with passion for dreams and goals
Built with care, love’s labor, legacy

Perfect days know rarity
Perfect days define a life
Perfect days wend their ways through time
Perfect days shout carpe diem!

Crafted in the love of nature
Massaged through love of family
Built in trust and peace and caring
Crafted by time, and time, and love.

Let this define your perfect day
Your lifetime of struggle and pain and sadness
Lifted to victory in the manner of the heart
Lifted to realization that day could be now


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