Even though the cat gets pissed off when you wake up at 4:30 or 5:00 and it becomes apparent to her that you are not going to be a human pillow for another couple of hours after all, there's something that is so restorative and promising about a late spring dawn. You know you are not going to get back to sleep. After all, the light in this northern place is already filling the room and the birds have begun their "I made it through the night, so come make eggs with me, baby" call. And just as your eyelids start to descend and your focus meanders to that sweet spot in your forebrain where the sleep lives, a dog starts to bark in someone's backyard, announcing that it's taken its leak and now it wants breakfast.
And still, now fully awake you lie there, because the air coming through the open window smells so sweet and fresh, and it's interspersed with wisps of winter remnants, so that you pull the covers over your shoulders and relish the warmth of the quilt. Up here on the second story and in this soft bed, the freshness is bracing and invigorating; downstairs in the kitchen it will just be bloody cold.
This tree in my yard smells so nice. It's a gift to you for putting up with days of concert photos which I didn't even take. I wish Blogger had a scratch and sniff option.