verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Friday, February 18, 2011

Lip Smacked

I went to have breakfast with Reilly this morning.  Her exuberance is contagious, even at the wee hour of 6am.  I stayed awhile to watch the night melt to morning and feel my buzzy coffee to do its buzzy magic.  From where I stood with my cup, it was a dark 6am.  From where Reilly was hip-hopping around the kitchen, it was a bright Right Now O'clock.  I couldn't help but laugh at her playful antics.  Reilly welcomes each day as the one she's been anticipating forever.  With a perpetual smile, she dances atop time.

Out to the back we wandered, a land of deep virgin snow and rolling drifts.  Reilly rode the crests of snow caps like a skilled surfer while I sank very deep with every step.  We listened awhile.  Water was running...the promising sound of winter burbling into the earth, draining away the layers of white and cold. Above us, the sun arrived just as the snow moon vanished below the sky.  Today is the kind of day that signals the receding edge of winter towards the horizon.  It also hints at spring's arrival, and for a brief day the two converge in their own whimsical dance.  We played until we were tired and then with great satisfaction, we lip-smacked the deliciousness of the day's cool warmth.

As I was heading out into the rest of my day, I found Next Door Penny on the front stoop, waiting for her daily biscuit, a ritual established here long ago.  As I turned back to say good bye, she too licked her lips and did her own little wag.  We had kissed the winter morning, and it was kissing us back.

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