The little red box at the top of my tablet reads “67 degrees” when I leave the dining room and head to the porch.  In one hand, my mug of coffee; in the other, a plate with sunflower seed buttered toast and a sliced banana.  The door lock sticks; I set the mug on the piano and apply pressure to force it open, then deftly step around the newspaper on the mat.  The cat still nibbles his food and casts a short glance over his shoulder as I settle in my rocker and set my breakfast down.  I scoop the newspaper from the concrete while I take my first sip of coffee.  The air stirs the windchimes above me.  I close my eyes and breathe.  Peace rises in me and I feel myself smiling.  I open my eyes and gaze at the morning, its sweet sheen of light radiating on my deck, the flutter of leaves in the trees as squirrels scamper down to the dewy ground.  Morning in Brookside.  I close my eyes again and surrender to its beauty.