Saturday Morning

SLEEPING IN

It was seven in the morning, and I began to stir. My wife kissed my forehead and quietly encouraged me to sleep a little longer, reminding me it was Saturday. Saturdays are my day for sleeping in, usually until about nine o’clock. Like most people, I wake up early for work during the weekdays, but at night I am generally up late writing until midnight or one in the morning.

PEEKY BLINDERS

I have a daily ritual I conduct upon waking. Once I am vertical and before anything else, before going to the restroom, brushing my teeth, or letting the dogs out, I first walk to the bedroom window, slide one of the blind slats up, and peek outside. I utter the same thing every day, not in an insincere monotonous way, and although the words are usually the same, they fall cleanly from my mind and exit my mouth as if it was the first time I looked out this window, “This place is so fucking beautiful.”

GOLDEN SUN

Most days, when I peek out of the blinds, I see gold. A large pine grove is on the property’s east side. East of the grove is a large tract of farmland used to grow tobacco and soybeans. In the wintertime, however, it is just left to rest, with its green and gold grasses blanketing the rich soil.