The View From Our Deck: Coffee and Comfort on a Mountain Morning
I wrap the down comforter around me on this cool mountain morning and greet the day from our deck instead of the back porch. Care to join me?
Sunlight gilds the tips of the peaks before slipping silently down the mountainside—a steady wash of gold on the evergreens until it reaches the bottom of the mountain. Then, the light suddenly floods the valley floor, and the green comes alive.
Magpies and ravens caw and call to each other. Their voices grate—brash, abrasive, and insistent in the background like the buzz of an alarm clock. Chirps interrupt the squabble like fat dollops of sweetness. I search the spruce at the edge of the yard for the hidden charmer but see nothing other than thick blue-green branches.
I listen for the whirring of the hummingbird that plays near the honeysuckle in the evening. Or the meadowlark’s warble and whistle, beckoning me to my morning walk.
Today, I linger here on the deck, absorbing the sunlight and peace, so I can share it with you.
A breeze stirs, caressing the aspen leaves. They quiver and shimmer in the morning’s glow.
We sat here one afternoon a week or two ago, sneaking a quick ice cream bar with our grandchildren. There were giggles and shivers, cuddles and sighs.
Out of the blue, our grandson said, “It’s so beautiful. And the rattling of the aspen leaves makes it even more beautiful.” This, from the child to whom sound and rhythm and music are as innate and integral to his nature as breathing—a gentle reminder to listen to the quiet voices I sometimes fail to notice.
There are no deer feeding near the creek today. Nor have I seen the four young pronghorn antelope that played tag across the meadow yesterday. But I know they are somewhere near. They will come, racing across the land with effortless grace, or feeding as they meander slowly through the field.
This is our home. I am in it. It is in me.
It belongs to me and my husband, our children, and our grandchildren—but it also belongs to the antelope and the red-tail hawk and the meadowlark. To the deer, and the elk. And to the rabbit that wriggles its whiskers at my garden from outside the fence.
If I try, I can hear the distant sounds of traffic on the highway rushing to God-knows-where or -what. But between me and the clamor of the world is the sound of the creek. This time of year the water is rushing, too. It’s a different kind of rushing—an eagerness. It’s the sound of clear, sweet, water tumbling down the mountainside and across the valley floor to meet the river and be swept into its embrace.
Today, I will let the world rush past, and I will dwell where the sound of the waters drowns the brash, abrasive sound of my fellow humans and their machines. I’ll wait here in the stillness for that small voice calling to my soul.
Small white wisps of clouds float lazily across the sky, already gathering above the mountains. This afternoon, the winds will come and storms may follow, and tomorrow may dawn hazy with wildfire smoke. But this morning, the breeze is gentle and the heavens are calm. The air is clear.
How eagerly I rushed toward this season of sunlight and warmth. Of flowers and breezes and birdsong. At this moment, I need not push for what is to come or regret what is past. How grateful I am that I have this time to sit, listen, and be.
How I wish the same for you. May this little snippet bring the peace and beauty of a Colorado mountain morning to your soul—to call you home, to beckon you onward, to sweep you into its eager embrace.
Peace be with you.
Where do you find peace to start your day? How will you share it?
Can you hear a voice whispering to your soul, reminding you of the sweetness you’ve been missing? Are you ready to follow it?
Want to share a peaceful moment in the comments box below?
