Wake up...

She sat on the back deck with her coffee, hands wrapped around the over-sized mug, legs curled under her watching and listening as the world woke up to a new day. She always felt a little sorry for her friends who weren't morning people. The ones who went to bed when it was dark and didn't wake again until it was full light. They missed so much. The way morning came gradually.

There was a slight curl of fog across the valley floor. She watched as it swirled slowly among the trees. The thin wisps not long for the world once the sun came up, but for now holding on to the banks of the stream, curling around the trunks of the trees, one last caress before the heat of the day burned it away. In the fall the morning fog was a reminder that winter was coming, during the spring the thin fog was a promise that summer was on its way. And there were days during the heart of winter where the fog came and did not leave.

This morning though the sun was already starting to burn away the cold of the evening. The rose and gold light starting to play across her valley. Waking the birds who sang good morning to the sun, just as the frogs the night before had sung it to sleep. She closed her eyes and listened as they called to each other. She wondered what they were saying. And wondered what they thought of her and her friends when they would gather on her back deck telling each other stories and laughing in to the night. Or crying. Did they cock their heads and listen? Closing their eyes and imagining that the noises they made were a language like the trills and songs they used?

Some mornings she would be lucky and see a small herd of deer coming to the stream for a drink. Or hawks circling and hunting for their breakfast. One day she spotted a bald eagle resting in a tree. She wished she had her camera but didn't dare risk going inside to get it, not wanting to miss a moment of the rare treat. Watching as it spread its massive wings and took flight, circling her valley twice before flying away.

Her valley. They had always called it her valley. When they first bought the small plot of land everyone said was a waste of money and would drive up to just sit in their dirt talking about the day they would build a house on this land. A house with a view of her valley. Then when the land on either side of their small plot came available they bought it as well. The land was cheap back then. Who would want to build a house that was so hard to get to? Why would anyone want to leave the city to live so far out? Perched above land that could never be developed, no chance at modern convenience. A quick trip to the store would take an hour. Too much rain and the road would wash out, any snow at all and it was impassable. But they kept buying the land as it came free. Eventually owning more acres than they would ever need and the only thing that they didn't own was her valley. The hillside was all theirs.

Of course as time passed and more people discovered the beauty of the land around them they had gotten many very generous offers to sell. Family and friends couldn't understand why they didn't take the money. They didn't understand how a plot of dirt meant so much to them. Until they built the house and people came to visit. Seeing the beauty of the valley. Listening to the sounds of nature instead of the sounds of the city. Some for the first time. Then they understood. Or at least they thought they did.

Watching now as the last bit of fog slipped away and her valley was bathed in full sun she took the last drink of her coffee. Standing and stretching, soaking in the last minutes of morning coming to her valley. Closing her eyes and listening to the birds. Turing her face up to the sun. Morning came slowly but it always came.