The windows are open. Cool air drifts in. Insects whirr and birds trill. Soft peach light chases the blackness away and lights the white rails of our front steps. A cat lays on my arms and purrs.

I love mornings. They’re calm. Quiet. Slow moving. The day is fresh and new. The air is crisp. The world wakes and stretches and sings its songs.

I would have said mornings are my favorite time of day. But yesterday evening, my husband and I sat on the back deck. We drank white wine and nibbled on cheese and crackers, and I admired all the work I did in the garden. Our daughter drove back to college last weekend, and our son left yesterday, and after we took him to breakfast, I went straight to the nursery then straight out into the garden without going into the house. I transplanted salvias and yarrows, ripped out sickly looking marigolds, and put in 14 mums in varying shades of deep reds and golden yellows. I’m ready for fall.

After all that gardening, and after my shower, and after a winning game of solitaire, and after watching a bird splash in the fresh water I’d put in the bird bath — they tend to bathe at the end of the day — I went out into the cool air and realized how much I love evening. In June and July, fireflies light the trees. In September and October, the air crackles and leaves turn to jewels. November through February, fires pop and hiss in the fireplace, and I sit next to them with my book.

I’m bad at picking favorites. Favorite books, favorite movies, favorite colors. Favorite food. Favorite time of day. Because really, I like the night, too, for sleeping. And the middle of the day for doing stuff. But I do like the bookends best. The morning is full of promise, and the evening is full of appreciation.

Daily writing prompt

What’s your favorite time of day?

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