Paragraph One: It's a beautiful morning here. I'm sitting at my desk (that isn't my permanent desk) and I'm looking out the front of the Cottage. It's a beautiful view. And I think it might be time to cut the grass. My excuse for not doing it is that, first of all, it's February. You don't mow your lawn in February. And the length of the grass adds to the mystic aura of the Cottage.
Paragraph Two: In my old age, I've learned to enjoy slow mornings. I actually like getting up a couple hours before I have to leave and start rushing. It's my time to drink coffee, listen to my favorite morning radio station, play with Skye, put away the dishes I washed the night before and pack my lunch.
Paragraph Three: Someone asked me yesterday what I do to rejuvenate myself. There isn't a magic thing. It's a lifestyle of little things added together. I read, write, I cook and clean. I take day trips and explore smaller-than-one-horse-towns. I train my dog and sit with her. I clean my car. Simple.
Paragraph Four: Skye always wants to go with me. She knows the morning will go one of two ways and she starts prepping my heart by sitting woefully by the front door with a despondent look on her face. Before I've gathered my stuff, if I say "crate" she'll sulk to her crate, get in, maybe pop back out real quick to see if I really meant it. But, if she can go with me, I don't say anything. I just get my stuff, walk towards the door and she starts spinning in circles in the air. She can't get to my car fast enough. This morning the routine started early. She won't leave my side. I guess this means she can go.