Spring

Stepping out onto the deck in the pre-dawn hour the cacophony of voices ring out in the darkness and make me smile. Thousands of peepers invisible to the eye herald in the spring, no doubt thrilled with the misty rain caressing my cheeks.  With the choral backdrop, petite particles of water dance a waltz in the early morning air.  Hand-in-hand they swirl and dip, illuminated by the outdoor barn lights like spotlights on their stage. As I step to open the barn doors, I inhale the sweet scent of hay mixed with horse, and I realize if I were to paint my morning, a translation of sense experience into color, the canvas would be filled out to the very edges with brilliant swirling greens and yellows and purples. 

It might not have been a textbook beautiful morning, but for me, at the moment I opened those barn doors, with three of my senses filled like cups to the brim, it was a perfect morning.