Journal entry

I like sitting next to my kitchen window. Over the top of the fence, I see the cook leaning against the jam of the open door at the back of the diner. A light shines inside. It’s been a long night.

Don's cook was washing berries, slicing and dicing bananas and apples for his famous pies. He has flour on his apron. He's been shaping dough into biscuits - biscuits that will soon be drowning in a bath of creamy sausage gravy as they sit next to a couple of fried eggs over medium. The morning crowd is already trickling in.

There are a few sparkling lights speckled on the side of the mountain. Someone else blinking awake perhaps. But more likely, it’s probably just the misty wet dew on the pine trees catching the orange light off the sunrise. Normal after all this rain.

The floor heater hasn’t had time enough to take the chill out of the air, and I feel a slight draft circling round my legs. My feet are inside my cozy slippers trying to calm themselves after the shock of hitting the floor as they stepped out of bed earlier in search of the inter-sanctum of my pink-a-licious squishy indoor shoes.

Cook has gone back inside and closed the door behind him.
Oz is sleeping.
And I do believe I just heard a snore.

Happiness is a warm kitchen,
the dude on his way home,
and a contented dog.
~