The mystery of getting out of bed

When I open my eyes, this is often the view. Oscar likes to sit behind the sheer fabric in the window, Mister Mosely prefers to be in the center bed, and the old tree outside that must have greeted the first or at least second settlers here appears like arms reaching out to me.

It's sun rise. I get up then, I do not get up without a sunrise unless forced. Martyn is up at 5:30. he makes coffee, has breakfast, and goes off to his landscape work.

Rountines. One could say mundane, but I like it that way just about every day–cat in window, sunrise over ocean, tree shadows, smell of coffee...a new day to lump together with all the rest that came before, but knowing it is a brand new day....anything can happen, after all...makes getting out of bed a daily mystery novel.