I‘ve always wanted to be the kind of person who gets up early, say, before 7 a.m., but it hasn’t been until recently (OK, the past two days) that I’ve done so. I credit this to my new house. Four windows flood the bedroom with 14-karat sunlight, and the room faces the street so I hear neighbors dragging their trash cans to the curb. It’s a street of draggers; I’m never sure why they’re hauling trash cans back and forth for no discernible reason.
I’ve gotten to know the birds very well. There’s a nest of loudly peeping baby birds cradled in the nook under the sagging roof of my neighbor’s battered shotgun house. There’s a cardinal. Now and then I see a couple Quaker parrots. I hear an owl hooting her morning reverie. I’m pretty into birdwatching now. Also, lawn ornaments, these little figurines of mermaids and pelicans and fat Buddhas, I want them all.
It’s really great to spend a couple hours zoning out with some tea and watching birds before going into work. I feel like these new hobbies are offering me a glimpse of the old, porch-sitting woman I will become, and honestly the future looks pretty darn good.