I’m standing on the porch on a late summer, upstate New York morning facing the glass door of the cabin.
I see the lush, green stretch of field behind me. Red flowers are in full bloom in their flower box. Both lamps, one inside and one outside, stand dormant after their previous night’s duties.
Sierra stares at me, knowing well that it’s time for breakfast.
Amongst the trees the kitchen clock strikes 9:35, and the day has officially started.
