It is early am Friday morning. I am being serenaded by a blustery wind careening off of my house as I sit inside, on a row of fabric hassocks, in the bay window of our living room, holding (and periodically sipping) a hot cup of coffee. My second this morning. Occasionally, the buffeting wind is joined by the soft sound of my husband’s gentle snore, drifting from the first floor master suite, as he steals a few extra minutes of sleep before we head off to work. Less occasionally, the sound of a collar rife with various dog tags jingles as our puppy scratches or snuggles in deeper to my sleeping spouse, accenting the sounds of our home this morning. As if in answer to that, our grandfather clock begins it’s chime, warning me the time has come to gather my wits and belongings and head out into the work world. But I hesitate, just a moment, hesitant to disturb this concert, enjoying these sounds that have become the orchestra of my life. And with the final chime of the clock, I give a gentle nod and silent applause, and rise to join the day, sad I could not freeze this moment and enjoy it longer, but grateful that it was mine to enjoy, if ever to briefly, none the less.