Saturday, May 21, 2016
Kermit and I get up around five-thirty, mumble around doing what we have to do, and then hit the streets (and/or the river walk) by six, and creep in the northside gate around a quarter to seven or so. On select mornings, Bernie has a stack of kindling in the chiminea ready for ignition on the back patio, and my tea water on simmer at the back of the stove.
I must say that on mornings like today, when the temps are still in the 50s, that morning campfire feels mighty good. The sun comes up and adds to the thawing effect on our old bones, whispering to us that soon there will be no point in a fire, that if we are at all cool at 7am, we should count ourselves lucky.
Yes, I will. But I'm very lucky now, too, to sit and sip tea by the morning camp.