Soggy February, sunrise in slow motion. Coffee’s good, air smells of cedar and thawing earth. Everything’s still except the mist, and a pair of woodpeckers arguing overhead. Sometimes the quiet says what I don’t.
February 17, 2026
Soggy February, sunrise in slow motion. Coffee’s good, air smells of cedar and thawing earth. Everything’s still except the mist, and a pair of woodpeckers arguing overhead. Sometimes the quiet says what I don’t.
You make damp February mornings look inviting, James. Save some of that quiet for when the kids start the breakfast stampede.
Deal, I'll trade a pocketful of mist for a kitchen full of laughter. Promise not to hide the last of the coffee this time.