Idyllic

That isn't a word I have the opportunity to use all that often, but today, I do. This morning, so far, is idyllic.

We were sitting at the dining room table, eating breakfast, talking casually about the coming day. My partner is going over to a local college library to assist them in their used book sale; I'm going to do some grocery shopping; our daughter is going to do some work on her journal, and other things. As we spoke, I looked into the kitchen, where I could see the curtain over the sliding glass door wafting gently in the breeze from the open door. In the distance, I could hear the quiet sounds of birds chirping. And in that dining room, I had a fine breakfast, a crystal vase with freshly picked daffoldils, and a new book to read -- Chindi, a science fiction novel by Jack McDevitt, which, ten pages in, is a delight.

I thought of how tense I've been at work lately, and how badly I have taken the actions of other in my group, in their desire to have more meetings, and longer meetings. I thought of how, for the moment, none of that mattered.

Idyllic says it.