Yesterday morning it rained.  I’m not used to rain in the morning, in the desert rain only comes in the evening- and even then that’s rare.  It was delicious rain.

Before I left on this trip my daughter asked me to photograph the view from her grandmothers front window.  I stepped out on the front porch (oh how I miss the concept of a porch) to take some pictures of the view.

The air was soft, soft like a fluffy clean pillow.  A very gentle breeze wafted through the air, bringing a hint of coolness to the balmy morning.  I sat back on the Adirondak chairs and stared across the street.  Thinking how nice it would be to spend a morning here, sipping ice-cold Dr. pepper.  Which in turn reminded me of Jaylee, and how much more fun her company and snarky humor would be.

I stared at the vacant pistachio green house across the street, day dreaming about the life I could live there.  The neighborhood was built in the 1920s, but I imagined my life there with the excitement of the late 1940s.  Built-ins in the dining room, thin pine floors, the dormer room- a play room for the children.  Lighting fires in the fireplace for warmth (instead of ambiance).

The softness of the morning seemed to be foreshadowing, it was going to be a soft day.  It seemed it was, it was a day of calm, among what could have been nerve inducing.  I finished the lovely book “The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen” a novel by Syrie James.  My heart soared along with the characters, it is every bit as wonderful as a true Jane Austen novel.

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