Sunday Morning

The weather gods must have had great sex last night.

It is glorious today. Western Kentucky May Sunday morning sitting on the porch glorious.

We've had our breakfasts, walked our walks. Even the oldest dogs dawdled a couple of extra blocks just for the beauty of the morning. And the young 'uns went to the river and back, the long way.

It would be a sacrilege to come home from those walks and go up to my stuffy little computer/writing/sewing room. To desecrate a gift of cloudless sky, precious air, and thoughtful sunshine. After a brief argument with my 'shoulds', I fix a fresh cup of coffee and accompany my book and my dogs on to the front porch.

I love Sunday mornings in Paducah. There is an old peace. As though Sunday mornings from before cars and twenty-four hour convenience stores and iPods settled here and never moved along. We sit on the porch, the dogs and I, in our papasan chairs with our feet up in the splendid sunshine. The ceiling fans are redundant; the natural breeze is fine.

Though the book I'm reading is a classic, it loses. It can't hold my attention this morning. The dogs go from listless to launched when a cheeky robin hops too close. The church bells! I can't tell if they are from the catholic church, or Broadway Methodist, or Grace Episcopal. It could be the Presbyterians. It doesn't matter, the bells don't know.

They are lovely. I haven't seen a car yet this morning. This town feels old and dear.

I can hear the Westie from four houses down, across the street going crackers. She's inside, but that's how quiet it is. The mocking birds are trying to outdo each other and the church bells. They are doing a fine job.

Two neighbor girls walk by. They are wearing flowery sun hats. Two best ten-year-old friends accompanied by one dad. The dogs poke heads through the pickets, wagging the other ends. "That's Lindy Loo, that's Spice - she's new - and that's William, and that one's my favorite, Sam," says one friend to another, and she's mostly right. The dad says, "It's a great day for gardening," mentioning one of my 'shoulds', but I'm able to shrug it off and go on with my worship.

I love this town. Thank goodness I still miss my friends back east. Thank goodness I still miss the fields behind our farm and the smell of horses with their morning greetings, soft.

Thank goodness for this wonderful, magical place.





hug your hounds