Sunday Morning.

I got up early. I like it, I write.

It was dark.

Then I look up and it is light outside, the sun has appeared over the whatever. I might put on Pink Floyd.

Always start with Dark Side Of The Moon, finish with Animals. The temptation is to start with Wish You Were Here, I know, but don’t. That opening to Dark Side Of The Moon, perfect for a Saturday morning. Breathe. That little combo has gotten me through a Sunday morning on more occasions than I can remember.  I count up exactly how many on my fingers. Mind blown.  The cool breeze blows in the back door.

Sam is making congee.

Buddy grunts and groans as he changes sleeping positions.

I drink strong coffee and eat toast with two different types of raspberry jam, I hear it is the chic thing to do for breakfast.

It is a gorgeous day.