High clouds, hazy sun, light breeze, cool temperature, a motorcycles roar breaks the morning quiet. Slowly the sound of the many birds comes back only to be broken by the air horn of the passing train. Steel wheels on steel rails make a subtle roar in counterpoint to the rubber wheels on concrete of the highway.

The sky is layers of gray with just a hint of pale blue to the west. The black faced vulture patrols a path in the currents below the clouds. Mulberry trees in my neighbors wood make a filigree of gray against a deep green backing as they slumber, waiting for the return of the spring migration.

Without the help of the sun beating down on the porch, 50 degrees becomes almost too cool to enjoy. Then, almost on command the clouds break, the sun’s heat burns lightly through, teasing, hinting, beguiling… Coffee is cold.