I see morning light, easing in through the vertical blinds.
I hear the quiet. No one home but my eight year old son and I. He is sleeping. The refrigerator is humming softly behind me. I have not yet chosen music for my mood. At 8 am, do I even have a mood?
I smell lavender scented dish soap in a sink full of warm bubbly water, waiting for me to get busy. I taste the warmth of morning coffee, brewed as the winter sun rose, pale and silvery, on the eastern edge of town.
I feel mellow as I ease into this day.