Early this morning, I padded through the house, barefoot and wearing ratty old sweats. My husband was still sleeping, and dogs were out back, basking in the morning sun.

I went out the front door to water the garden box. I set the sprayer on mist, as all the other settings are too strong for the stuff I planted, and communed with the flowers for several minutes, breathing in the clean smell of wet earth and growing things.

In the distance, I could hear the faint sound of church bells, though I don’t know what church. I think we’re too far from St. Leo’s to hear their chimes. Above my head, the birds were singing and twittering, already well into their day, and from another house on the block, I heard organ and panflute music, a not-quite-new-age blend of the two. I think I recognized “Amazing Grace,” which is a favorite song of mine despite any formal religious beliefs, the rest was less distinct – I couldn’t even tell when one song ended and another began.

Still, standing there barefoot, in the cool mist from my garden hose, and the still-soft morning breeze, listening to the chimes and the music, my heart expanded, and I was, for a moment, in a place of perfect peace, and at one with the universe.

All days should begin this way.