Morning is my best time of the day. These are the few months where I get to spend mornings outside, walking around the yard with my coffee cup, inspecting the insides of bee balm, writing and waiting for hummingbirds to appear above the trumpet vine. Yesterday I was helping a friend with some of her poems, and we discussed our morning rituals - we both consider the early hours well-spent in moodling.
Is my domesticity showing in my poems? Yes. Like a loose slip.