These are the kind of mornings I live for – hushed, quiet, the soft hiss of rain falling as the crows and gulls and songbirds that thrive in the lush hillsides outside wake and begin their day. The Christmas tree lights illuminate this otherwise gently lit room and the fountain bubbles peacefully over the hum of its pump. The dogs sigh and snore beneath the heated blankets and though are errands I should do, I’ve nowhere I must be. I’ve got a book, a diary, a notepad for lists, and am arsenal of remotes for visual entertainment, and the usual battery of migraine weapons to kill the elf trying to claw his way out from behind my eyes – coffee, Imitrex, ice packs, pornography, cannabis, red meat. Though I’m in pain, things are pretty, and soft around the edges, and in this moment I am most content.
