The dogs let us sleep in until 5:45 on Monday morning. That's an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. We had company, and we had gone to bed late (Doug later than me), and those extra fifteen minutes felt good.
But the dogs said, Up and at 'em!
And of course they were right. Because these September mornings have been gorgeous, and I do not want to miss a thing.
The sun comes up while we're drinking coffee and reading the paper, and after it crests the treetops we have to pull the porch shades, because it blinds us. By the time the dogs have been fed and Boscoe has had his shot, the whole park is suffused in gold. We walk slowly, because that's how Boscoe likes it, and the route that used to take us 30 minutes now takes 40.
I won't go on and on about all the animals we see, since I covered that in the last post, except to say that we see the woodchucks fairly often. They waddle very fast and disappear into their burrows under the pine trees and poke their heads out in a comical way to see if we're gone.
After the dog walk I am not ready to start aiming myself at work. I get on my bike and ride once, twice, sometimes three times around the lake. It's a small lake; it takes no time at all. The water is glass smooth and striped blue and green with algae. There are dog-walkers, joggers. I am the only person on a bicycle.
And then when I cannot put it off any longer--8:30, or 8:35, or some days 8:45 or 8:55--I get in the car. I press the windows all the way down. I look at the Mississippi as I roll over it. I scan the sky by the U for bald eagles. I take note of the goldenrod and chamomile poking up through the cracks in the parking lot. Because these glorious golden mornings are rare, and they are fleeting. Soon it will be winter, and I do not want to miss a thing.