the perfect morning

it is sunday morning
and the sun is just cresting the horizon
kissing the dew covered grass as though for the first time
the moon is gently fading, relinquishing her post
the coffee is hot, steam curling over the rim of my mug
the birds sing a song I do not know
but the peepers chirp along
it is a symphony with no conductor
the door is open, a light breeze curls through the house
caressing its inhabitants
the griddle is hot, bacon and eggs crackle as they cook
my daughter plays in the corner, all smiles and laughter
it is a sound I will never stop loving
and I have a book propped open on the counter
stealing time to gently turn the pages  
in the midst of this beautifully organized chaos