How many insects are singing? It’s a holy chorus of sacred song. Wren is the soloist, chirping and trilling her morning song. Mockingbird is the diva that claims arias all her own.

We are in the embrace of the clouds, held in white moisture that breaths us as we join the day.

Orange cat perches on the wood rack, awaiting breakfast. Black dog watches for squirrels; Hound gazes into foggy woods. All of us expectant of some mystical moment that signals the start to the next phase of our day.

But for now, we breathe clouds, enjoy music of the woods, and each other’s company and the presence of delightful beings with which we share this mountain.