When I was young, and traveled to art fairs with my dad in the summertime, we would be up super early to go set up his paintings at the show. We'd sometimes grab a doughnut, or waffles at Bill Evans, but it was that sense of purpose, early in the morning when the air was already warm, that I still feel when I get up early.
And sometimes I think about a weekend trip I took to the Welsh countryside in Spring of 2006, where, staying at the amazingly-located Baskerville Hall Hotel in a bunk room with seven other girls, I got up at the crack of dawn and went for a walk by myself down winding roads, around quilted hills. It was magical, and I remember it still today. It's those little moments that mean the most, and something about the promise of a new day and the clarity of the morning sun make morning an experience in itself.
P.S. The cat is a family cat, Roxie. She was curious about the flowers this morning, too.
Days to Edinburgh Move-In: 123