There are few better ways to start the day than morning reflection over a warm cup of coffee on the front porch. Unlike the business of my mind, the place around me is calm, serene even. You cannot help but relax into it. There are no worries here on the porch.

Last night, a heavy dew collected on the red metal roof of our home and it is inextricably enticed by gravity into a loud, rhythmic drip into the aluminum downspout. God’s ochestra plays on with a cacophony of sounds around me. I can pick out meadowlark, crows, red wing blackbirds and mocking birds from the din. Occasionally, a train adds its whistle as it passes a nearby intersection. It is too wet now for mowers and tractors. The porch swallow flits in to feed her young. For a moment there is a burst of screeching as the babies clamor for their share. They quickly settle back down.

Momma swallow alights on a column opposite my little table and watches me, as if to ask “Why are you here?” She is small, delicate, beautiful. Soon she will perform her acrobatic aerial display as she catches more insects for her growing brood. But for now, she sits and cocks her head at me, occasionally chirping.

It is quite foggy this morning. The grass is lush and green from the weeks of rain this spring. The field out front is awash with beautiful buttercups, in stark contrast to the brown board fencing and deep red horse shelter. The fence line trees across the fields alternate from dark green cedars to the bright new spring growth of maple, oak, and birch. Beyond that line, and the next pasture, the trees fade into the fog.

I feel blessed to have this beautiful, country morning and just for this moment, the world, and my soul, are at peace.

Front fields of buttercups after heavy rains