Slipping Into Summer

On an ideal summer morning, I awaken at six to soft gray light leaking through the filmy white curtains on the french doors next to my side of the king size bed. Slipping out from under the cozy down comforter, I stand and stretch, assessing my body for aches and pains from the five mile hike the day before. Finding none, I grab the neatly folded pile of clothes from the ladder-back chair next to the dresser, step out into the hallway and silently close the door behind me.

I descend the stairs, avoiding all the squeaky spots I have discovered on previous early mornings. Making my way to the kitchen, I fill the electric tea pot with water from the kitchen tap, settle the pot on it's base and depress the start lever. During the five minutes it takes for the water to heat, I get dressed in the downstairs bathroom.

The hot water ready, I begin my morning tea ritual; measuring out a teaspoon of black leaf Cinnamon Roll tea from the clear glass mason jar, placing the tea into the floating tea filter nestled inside the Sleeping Bear Dunes mug I found in the cupboard, claiming it as my own for the week. Into the mug, I pour water from the tea pot and set the timer on my phone for three minutes to let the tea steep to its full potential. I gather the last of the things I need for my morning adventure: the pink and white checked blanket, my Canon dSLR, my journal and black sharpie pen. Carefully I place each of these items in the large canvas bag with the mallard green straps. The timer vibrates on my phone; the tea is done. I tap the screen to silence the vibration, slipping the phone into the bag as well.

Returning to the kitchen, I remove the tea filter and measure out a teaspoon of sweet clover honey from the plastic squeeze bear I brought from home, filled with honey from my dad's bees. I take the streaming mug into the dining room where the canvas bag awaits, reaching down I gently lift the bag, slipping the wide straps onto my left shoulder. I pause at the sliding glass door to slip my feet into my paisley rain boots, slide the door open and walk out onto the wooden deck.

I look across the dewy grass to my destination, the white dock surrounded by layers of morning fog. The dock where I will lay out the pink and white blanket, sit and drink my tea, journal my deepest thoughts, and capture the morning fog with my camera and my phone. All the while the rest of the world sleeps.

Why is it that perfect summer mornings only happen in our dreams.