Wherever You Are When the Sun Rises

Sunrise. . . 

obviously not in New York City.  

At least not in our part of New York City, where the sun rises over the East River and wakes up the Brooklyn Bridge.

This morning, I'm writing my blog from the back porch of our home in Arkansas.

Songbirds, squirrels, some bumbly bees, and the neighbor's nosey cat keep me company.  The school bus picked up children along our road by 7:00, "Farmer Brown" fed his goats and horses, the next-door neighbor (an acre or so over) left for work. I've seen no other humans since.  Our house is tucked back from the road at the top of a hill, surrounded by hundreds of friendly trees.

 It's hard to stay inside, even inside a screened-in porch, on a day like today.  The sky's a cloudless blue, the sunshine a soothing 68 degrees; so why fight it?  I grab my camera and let the door slam behind me.    

I love this yard, especially in early spring!  It feels like familiar friends returning from a long vacation.

Grandson Nate and I planted these tulips.  I scooped out the holes; he stuck in the bulbs, and we talked about how they would turn into flowers one day.  

The crevice beside our chimney becomes home each year to Mama and Papa Bird and their babies. We haven't been formally introduced, but are proud to have them for neighbors.

"Rosemary" adorns herself with powder blue blossoms and invites friends to enjoy her nectar.

In last summer's drought, I thought this little tree had died.  We watered her often, but weren't sure she had survived until pink buds appeared last week.  Hooray!

I return to the porch to download pictures and finish writing, reminded once again that. . . 

Each day teaches gratitude, no matter where you are when the sun rises.