Morning fog

I felt compelled to take a picture of the potting shed this morning on my usual walk. Something about it just grabbed me. The stark white against the dark early morning, the solemn trees standing there, the old rusted farm implements next to it, which unfortunately weren't detected in the photo. It's so quiet and still that I can't wait to see what the morning will look like as it meets the day.

I have a partner now in the mornings, of the canine variety. I'll spare you the pictures. Today, instead of literally dragging her out of her bed to come with me before she was ready, I decided to let her sleep and catch her on the tail end of my jaunt. It worked much better that way. Much less defiance and abrupt sitting followed by more dragging.

She's one of the sleepiest puppies I've ever seen. I just ran a short errand and put her in her crate (so she can't uproot any more of my plants--the little stinker). As soon as I got back I tried to let her out because as much as she shows me she likes her crate I still feel a little bad about putting her in there. I know, I know, I shouldn't. Well, this time she wouldn't come out. She laid down, she gave me big yawns and stretches, stood up, turned around and curled up in the back of it as if to say, "Leave me be woman! Let me snooze!". So I did.

After a huge orange juice spill at the breakfast table and lots of snipping by an impatient mom (ahem) on an already late schedule, there was an interesting discussion about the sky at the bus stop.

It looked like this on my walk:

and then a small opening broke in the clouds and the sun's rays split in large sections down through the clouds.

John: "Look mom, it looks like we're all getting sucked up into heaven. Everything, all the trees and people and the grass."

Lauren: "Oh, I hope we all get sucked up into heaven! I want to see Emma (deceased dog) and run and play with her!"

me: "I think it looks like heaven's coming down here."

John: "Wow, that would be great."

In my early morning fog, I almost forgot.