The Season of Morning

A cool air still lingers outside the window. So this is how quiet the sound of a changing season is. The chill that touches my fingertips as I take the milk from the fridge tells me it's already autumn. I drink my coffee and look outside. Dew on the leaves catches the light and glitters. There was a morning like this around this time last year. The me of then was a little different from the me of now. Still, morning waits for me quietly in the same place, always. On days I don't want to get up, on days the sun doesn't rise, the season does not stop. But today, the mood is good. A day that hasn't yet arrived holds out its hand. I take one more sip of coffee and open the door to the new season.