This is the first blog post I wrote and it appeared on:
I tweaked a line or two and added a few new pictures. I hope you enjoy it.
Their chirps are alerting me that I’d better get moving. Rising early has never been an issue for me because it’s the best time of the day. Who on earth would want to miss the sunrise, cool crisp air, and sparkling dewy grass?
A quick peek in the mirror assures me that I have bedhead trauma. I carelessly run fingers through my hair. As the pre-programmed coffee perks, I pull on jogging pants and adjust them underneath my calf-length cotton nightgown. My nose follows the scent to the kitchen for my wake-up brew. A pinch of sugar substitute and half-n-half, and then I savor my first sip.
I rummage through the fridge for grape jam, boil a cup of water with sugar for the hummingbirds, and set it aside to cool. I slip my arms into a fleece then grab a mixing spoon and jar of jam. Placing my back against the screen door, I push my way outside.
I drop a gob of jam unto an orange plate and rinse the cement birdbath clean before filling it with fresh water. Within seconds, a handsome male oriole is dipping into the jam, unthreatened by my presence.
Someone down south took good care of him or he’d be leery of me.
With arthritic hands, I struggle to pull the top of the black oil sunflower country seed mix and carry a full pail to the feeding station under the leaning pine tree. I hurry back inside for the cooled hummingbird mix and fill the bright red feeder.
I stop, breathe in deeply, raise my hands to heaven, assess my work, and then return to the house to freshen my coffee.
I reach for my devotional before shuffling out again to the wooden swing set. Needs a good power washing, I think before sitting down. I wiggle and twist until I find a comfortable resting position and pause before reading. Gazing above at the shards of light bursting through the maple tree branches, I watch my feathered friends flitter about, swoop down for their breakfast, and harmonize thank you.