The Morning

As the sun poked up above the tree line, pale and cold looking amid the gray waves of clouds, Emery was walking from the wood shed across the yard, armload of wood in hand for the morning fire.  He reminded me of an English gardener.  His Wellington's  tall on his leg, barn coat. green and worn from years of wear.  His hat, perfect.   My heart filled with warmth and overflowed with love as I watched him come towards the house as I stood at the back door, my breathe captured by the glass on the door.  Nothing beats that kind of feeling.