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Dear Reader,
It's 5 a.m. I'm sitting on my screened-in front porch drinking a cup of coffee. A soft light is on a stand nearby. Barry, my tuxedo cat, is on the porch, too. Barry chases lizards and squirrels from inside the screen. Barry likes being on the porch early in the morning, too. Every morning it's the same routine. Barry waits inside the house by the door leading out to the porch, and looks back at me as if to say, "Well, are you coming?" He likes my company, so together we sit awhile every morning.
Early in the morning the world around me is oh, so quiet. It's a familiar feeling, a deja vu that reminds me of when our four kids were young. If I wanted to familiarize myself with what peace and quiet felt like, I had to get up early before anyone else stirred. Getting up early was my chance to be Suzanne and not "Mom."
It's the same experience every morning on the porch. The world around me, at least in my neighborhood, is quiet. The street is barren of cars and the squirrels are still sleeping. (Well, there might be a mama squirrel up sipping coffee, catching some quiet time before the kids wake up.) The quiet is a little piece of heaven. It's easy to put aside any anxiety about the upcoming day.
I hear the man who gets up earlier than me to retrieve cans out of recycle bins, before the garbage trucks come around. That man is a hard worker. A broom pole balancing over his left shoulder and a huge black garbage bag attached to each side of it. Clang, clang, smish--he steps on every can before he tosses it in the bag. The sounds stop, and he heads-on down the sidewalk.
Sitting on the porch, early in the morning the world around me is a painting. Lighter and lighter the day starts appearing, the artist has begun her work. "Chirp, chirp," the birds are awake. A car drives down the road. It's almost time for the morning runners and joggers to show up. So I head out front to turn on my electric bubble machine. If I forget, or I'm late, soon I'll hear the runners calling. "Where are the bubbles?"
"Thud," the paper has arrived. The light in my neighbor's house just went on. My coffee cup is empty. The canvas is finished and the day is ready to begin.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@EmailBookClub.com
***** AUTHORBUZZ *****
WHEN MOCKINGBIRDS SING (Fiction) by Billy Coffey
Did you grow up with an invisible friend? Someone who played with you, someone you shared secrets with? For young Leah Norcross he's The Rainbow Man. And what transpires next will stretch the limits of faith and doubt, hope and heartbreak, not only for Leah, but for everyone who lives in her small Virginia town.
Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on WHEN MOCKINGBIRDS SING to read more and to email author Billy Coffey, you'll get a reply.
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