The morning seemed to arrive sooner that day, as the night shadows gave way to the early morning light. There was a hint of light through the trees as I reached for my first cup of coffee.
The air was still; I could hear the distance sounds of loons on the lake; their mournful cry composed a haunting melody. I smiled; the first sip of coffee was always the best one. I relaxed with this friend some call “Joe” and listened and watched as the morning unfolded.
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