"Cat in a Window" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Daylight comes earlier now. The long shadows of winter mornings have softened, and a gentle brightness seeps into the room before I’ve finished my first sip of coffee. I sit quietly, cradling the warm mug between my hands, watching the world awaken outside my window.
My cat perches in the sill, still as a statue yet alert in every muscle. She gazes outward, eyes wide and focused. What does she see? Squirrels scampering across branches? Birds flitting from feeder to tree? A chipmunk darting beneath the fence line? Perhaps she sees more than I can ever guess. Her ears twitch slightly. What does she hear? The rustling of leaves stirred by a soft breeze? The warble of a robin greeting the day? The sharp chatter of a gray squirrel staking its claim?
What does she smell? I imagine the earthy scent of damp soil, the subtle perfume of lilac on the wind, the whisper of newness that rides on spring air.
Though her senses differ from mine, we are both engaged in this quiet ritual. She, intent and curious; I, contemplative and still. We are participants in the unveiling of morning.
I hear birdsong—though my sleepy eyes have yet to find the source. I let the music of it wash over me, layering it onto the canvas of this moment. There is something sacred in this early hush, something holy in the simple act of being present.
I wonder what the day will bring. And yet, in this very moment, I am not concerned with tasks or timelines. I am simply here—savoring the miracle of morning, this precious blink of time that so often slips by unnoticed.
I give thanks. For this mug of coffee. For the cat beside me. For birds I can hear but not yet see. For the light filtering through trees. For another chance to begin again.
It is the start of a new and wonderful day.
~Wylddane
My cat perches in the sill, still as a statue yet alert in every muscle. She gazes outward, eyes wide and focused. What does she see? Squirrels scampering across branches? Birds flitting from feeder to tree? A chipmunk darting beneath the fence line? Perhaps she sees more than I can ever guess. Her ears twitch slightly. What does she hear? The rustling of leaves stirred by a soft breeze? The warble of a robin greeting the day? The sharp chatter of a gray squirrel staking its claim?
What does she smell? I imagine the earthy scent of damp soil, the subtle perfume of lilac on the wind, the whisper of newness that rides on spring air.
Though her senses differ from mine, we are both engaged in this quiet ritual. She, intent and curious; I, contemplative and still. We are participants in the unveiling of morning.
I hear birdsong—though my sleepy eyes have yet to find the source. I let the music of it wash over me, layering it onto the canvas of this moment. There is something sacred in this early hush, something holy in the simple act of being present.
I wonder what the day will bring. And yet, in this very moment, I am not concerned with tasks or timelines. I am simply here—savoring the miracle of morning, this precious blink of time that so often slips by unnoticed.
I give thanks. For this mug of coffee. For the cat beside me. For birds I can hear but not yet see. For the light filtering through trees. For another chance to begin again.
It is the start of a new and wonderful day.
~Wylddane
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