Woke up on the most comfortable couch I have slept on in three years, more comfortable even than the bed I’ve been using on the floor in my Japanese apartment.  Tree leaves brighten to brilliant green outside the window from 6 a.m. to 8 as I make corrections on Google Docs and one cat of two, who is the morning person of the pair, leaps from couch to sofa to table to chair in a kind of morning routine romp.  Whenever she jumps my outstretched legs and crossed ankles, she makes a happy trill like little chimes.

The ceiling fan rattles percussively as it spins.  The furniture has the settled feeling of old things passed from one generation to another more than once.  The carpet is unashamed of its cats because while torn in places it is soft and good for lying on for ceiling staring.  The curtains that are closed to the East glow with the building light.

I have missed the quiet of the wooded world, and that warm feeling that comes with being the first awake in a house of friends, knowing the next thing to happen will be the soul nourishing tradition of foraging for breakfast together.