The morning is amazing.

As I walk out into the predawn pasture, the crisp, forty-nine degree air pushes my thoughts back and let my existence become filled with the thrilling chill in my nose and chest.

The sky directly over my head is crowded with stars that only city folks never see. There stands Orion, slaying the lion with drawn sword; Cassiopeia in her eternal punishment for vanity, sitting in her upside down throne; the big and little dipper, the little one always so difficult to find.

Horses move groggily in the shadows. Whinny softly. Acknowledging my presence. Good morning.

An owl hooting in a maple tree startles Fritz, who barks in fear with the pretense of guarding his companions against an intruder.

As the violet ribbons of daybreak timidly inch over the far-off edge of the world, I make my way back to the house, and unwilling to leave this personal paradise, I tarry for a moment and sit on the back steps to watch the ancient wonder unfold yet again, whether anybody notices it or not. Fritz climbs the steps and sits by my side, licks my ear. Dixie curls at my feet, nestling her nose between outstretched paws. Timmy and Lassie . . .and yet another Lassie.

As the silhouettes of trees grow in color, I begrudgingly force myself to rise, enter the house, take my shower, kiss Mary Ellen and start my day.

Tomorrow will have yet another dawn, eerily similar to and starkly different than this one.

And I will be back.