Birdsong

It is a deliciously cool summer morning.
Early.
I rise from the bed that the cat and the dog have shared with me and pad down the stairs lit with stained glass window light. It is time for tea.
Cup in hand I return to The Quest House - the cream colored walls and the cool blue ceiling welcome me.
This little room in my home, once a nursery, once an office, is now the second heartbeat of my home beating next to the thrum of the kitchen drum. It is here that I write and read the writing of my clients and friends; here that I dream of the days to come - a time when The Quest House will be another house; a guest house with a great room and a garden and rooms for the wounded and for dreamers to come and be nurtured, to be healed, to be inspired.
I open the rich warm gauzy orange curtains to let in the early morning light and the still cool breeze of morning and then turn to my computer.
Tap, tap, tap. Scritch, scritch, scritch. I slowly swivel back toward the window.
Perched on the peek of the silver porch roof dances a chickadee. We eye one another before she skates down the slope and hops into the lush, dense green of the maple tree singing as she goes.
Ah, to start the day with a melody at my window and a song in my heart.
May your day be as richly blessed my friends.