The Saturday Morning Quiet.

Growing up, I despised the morning. Most people do, I guess. How many teens do you know get up at 6 AM because they want to? Not many, I'm certain.

These days, I wish the mornings would last longer. I wish the world would stay curled in the warmth of bed while I went about my business. Which usually consists of coffee and reading.

Even in my mid-20's I liked to get up early and enjoy the Quiet. Usually that was on a Sunday. Ever notice how a Sunday morning Quiet is much different than Saturday morning Quiet? And a Summer Sunday Quiet is different than an Autumn Sunday Quiet, that's different than a Winter Sunday Quiet. My favorite is the Autumn Sunday Quiet. Especially when I was living in New England. There's something about that crisp Sunday morning walk to get the paper.

Way back in those 20's, I worked at a bank and Saturday mornings meant getting ready for work. Sunday was my only morning to enjoy. While my roommates (old high school friends) were sleeping away their drink from the night previous, I was up. Reading the Boston Globe. Sipping warm coffee. Paul Simon softly hanging in the air. The sun painting blocks of light on the walls and floor. When my friends stirred, I quietly wished them back to sleep. "Give me one more hour. Just one more hour." Sometimes they acquiesced. Other times, they arose – slumber stumbling into the living room grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. Ugh. Noise.

Today morning, in addition to reading (and writing this), I'm doing yard work. Yes. Yard work. At 8 AM. Starting with a nice dousing of water for the back lawn. Next, gonna trim the bushes in the front.

It'll be in the mid-90's today. So now you see why I'm so gung-ho. Don't need to be melting under that fireball this afternoon. Besides, there are errands to run and a cookout to prepare for tonight.

And I'm doing all this now so that I don't have to tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll wake again early. Coffee. Paper. Quiet.