Early birds and all that

Occasionally I fall in love again with where we live. Where I’ve almost always lived.

This happened early Saturday morning, when we were headed out of town for the day and in a hurry. We drove south along the ridges of the Boston Mountains, over low valleys full of fog, just after the sun showed up.  (It’s a scenic byway for a reason.) It was almost a shame to keep moving, and I said so. I said I wanted to come back the next day, to see it at 0 mph and not through the car window.

Don heard me. On Sunday morning, he had already been outside painting the house for awhile in the near-dark when Jack and I got up at 7:30. He took a break to come inside ask if we were ready for an early-morning date.

We were.