Sunday morning in my household is the time when I can sit in front of my pretty window that overlooks the bay with coffee in tow, laptop up and running and lots of catalogues and magazines to go through. This ritual is my peace. I don't have to be anywhere, I don't have to talk, I don't have to drive or rush around, I can just be. Usually with this ritual comes the stack of mail that has collected for a week, in which I must go through, sort out, dispose of and shred. It may not seem like a way to start a morning, but for me, I wouldn't have it any other way. This mornings beauty is the dismal gray sky, the way the overhanging low cloudy ceiling turns the bay water to a hard pewter sheen, and even though it is gray and lonely outside there is one little bird trying to catch his feast for breakfast. Seems like he is enjoying the solitude as well. Ah my ode to Sunday mornings.