Wake up.

It's cold in my room, but it's warm under the covers. I've slept so soundly I haven't moved in hours, my body heating the pillow and mattress which now gently radiate that warmth back to me. My legs have that gentle, loose ache born of an active yesterday. I stretch them out, squeezing and relaxing the muscle fibers which tingle as blood is worked through them.

Sunlight streams in through cracks in the blinds. My alarm is blissfully quiet. There's still sleep in my eyes as I find my way to the kitchen, pausing for socks and slippers if it's actually cold today and not just cold outside the covers. The coffee is waiting, brewed by timer or by someone up before me. It's warm, heady, smells amazing. The first sip comes just shy of scalding my mouth; it tastes great but not quite as good as it smells.

Coffee never tastes as good as it smells.

Some days I might be headed out the door early. Maybe I'm rowing or I'm meeting someone for breakfast. Not today though, it's not on the schedule. Today we're enjoying coffee on the porch, regardless of the weather. We've got a crossword, fresh bagels, some gentle morning tunes, maybe a novel. It's a leisurely way to start the day.

Shower, dress, dive into some work. Not work work, I get plenty of that as it is. This work is something on my list. Set up a media server perhaps, or replant the houseplants that have overgrown their pots. Maybe prep something for dinner, or write for this blog. Fix the loose doorknob or the wobbly toilet seat. Even just work through the admin that's been piling up the last few weeks. Doesn't have to be something I've been looking forward to, just not something I'm dreading.

The work gets the gears going, and I cruise from one thing to the next. Some parts are frustrating, stalling progress in all directions, which makes them that much more rewarding when I break on through (to the other side). It's intense, relaxing, and works muscles (mental or physical) that don't normally get much attention.

Lunch is well-earned and feels that way. It's light and filling all at once, perhaps an Italian sub or one of the fancy slaws my wife wants to try making. I wouldn't mind something off the grill for lunch, but I'm not firing it up just for myself. A grill is a social appliance, best saved for friends and guests. Should a friend drop by it'll be there, but today it looks like it's staying cold.

After eating, there are some errands to run. I bike wherever the list demands, filling and emptying my backpack as necessary. I run into folks I know on two occasions. One conversation is turns to our shared afternoon plans. "We're just gonna bring beer and some LaCroix" I say. I'm impressed at the description of the cookies I'll get to try in a few hours time.

Home again, mix an Arnold Palmer, put my feet up and read my book. It's warm enough to be on the porch, a slight breeze to keep the bugs at bay. My phone is...not here. It's inside somewhere, but I'm not bothered with its exact coordinates. There's nothing it could possibly do that needs to be addressed right this minute.

That fact, by the way, is not just in this particular moment. Something to remember for the other days as well.

I finish the book. Perils of reading as quickly as I do. Or maybe I doze off in the sunlight and I'll have to finish tomorrow. Either way, it will soon be time to leave. So I shower, shave if I need it, and we head out the door with our beverages in hand.

It's a party, or at least it's a bunch of adults hanging out at a friend's house. I know most, if not all of them. Any new faces quickly become familiar ones, attuned to the shared rhythms of this little community. There's not an agenda, or any real schedule. It's a back porch kind of gathering: people floating around, mixing and mingling, maybe throwing a disc in the yard or watching a game in the living room.

There is a grill, and it smells divine. Unlike a coffee machine, it is possible for the results of the Weber to taste as good as they smell.

Conversations run the range of topics. We are not limited to "what do you do?" "Where are you from?" We know the answers already, or we figure we'll find out eventually. Instead, we are all sharing ideas, experiences, goofy jokes, and offers to help or make connections wherever we can. It's not some somber philosophical gathering; it's the easy depth of people who have moved past the ritual and can just be together.

We eat when we're hungry, some folks leave for other plans or to tend to children or pets. The sun sets, the evening becomes night. We could stay until bedtime, we've done that before. As it happens, someone going our way is making their exit. We take the opportunity to slap the knee and slip out and have company for the walk home.

It's late enough to go straight to bed, but there's a bit of key lime pie in the fridge. So we make the coffee for the next day, cut the final slices, and savor our prize. We've gotten good about our phones before bed, which are tucked away charging in their spots. The TV probably comes on with a mindless game show or comedy. It feels different when it's shared, even if it's also a screen. Pie gone, show over, we finally admit there is nothing more left to wring from the day.

It's almost a sad moment. It has to be. How could it not?

There are no guarantees that tomorrow will live up to today.

Our bedroom is quiet, the covers cold until their occupants warm them. The lights go off, good nights are said, but slumber is not instantaneous. I have a moment to relish the comfort of my blankets, the cool pillow against my face. The memories of the day sparkle in my mind, fading away as I gently slip over the threshold of sleep.