It is five in the morning, Seamus decided it was time for us to get up and, as he’s figured out over the past ten years, if he persists, he usually gets his way. There is method to his madness, and I’ve learned to make the best of it and truth be told, the solitude of the quiet, dark, chilly morning lends to my getting my thoughts in order.
The first order of business is to make a fire. Though no snow, there is frost on the deck and on the tarp covering the woodpile. I take a handful of kindling I split from the kindling box and with the help of a piece of fatwood, get a fire going with one match. (The Boy Scout comes out and I delight in seeing flames after striking only one match. I indulge myself with a slight grin.)
The coffee is ground and brewing and the aroma filters into the living room and competes with the fire; It’s a wonderful mixture of smells that make the solitude of the morning more relaxing.
The main logs have begun to burn and steam from the moisture absorbed from yesterday’s rain lifts up and out through the flue.
It is going to be a good day. All is right.