I am sitting here in my bath sheet, enjoying the rustling of the blowing leaves and the ringing of my chimes.
I am amazed at how many leaves have come off the oak tree in the last few days. There is a blanket of leaves outside my door. Every once in a while a few of them decide to get up and dance together, or visit the other side of the field. What a perfect morning.
A white Christmas is nice, but I am used to my Texas Christmas mornings now, and don't yearn for it like I used to in the past.
The problem with a perfect morning is that you eventually have to get up and complete your chores. I have underwear to put in the dryer for the youngest, meatloaf to make for the oldest, medicine to take, a shopping list to make, and then I can have fun quilting.
May all your mornings be perfect.
Me, I will have workmen here again tomorrow, and will be listening to the air compressor go off. I hate that thing.
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