Morning coffee. The best part of the day. Especially, if I don’t have to work.

Someday, I will learn to live a moment at a time. Live for the moment. But, a lifetime of worrying over what comes next is a huge dragon to fight.

I am getting better. I do enjoy the morning. And, the anxiety that comes with fretting over things of which I have no control, is decreasing with age.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow. one day at a time.”

How often have I gulped down oatmeal and coffee, with no more notice than tying my boots. It’s disrespectful of the oats and coffee beans that died for my consumption.

I remember my cousin’s lake house on the Lake of the Ozarks. Early morning, on the deck, overlooking the lake. Notebook in hand, sketch the shore. A bird calls with a voice I don’t know. Cousin Val comes out on the deck, places a coffee next to me. Not a word. She sits in nice robe, bed hair and bible in hand. I am tempted to draw her, she reads my thought, her eyes say no.

I watch the bird with the strange voice. He flies just above the water, wing tips leaving gentle ripples in the water. The coffee is strong, the world is at peace, and I know serenity.