The first light on the horizon starts to show as the songs of crickets start to fade. I sit cross legged at the open door of my tent smoking my pipe. I take gentle pulls of smoke from it and slowly inhale and then gently exhale. The wispy smoke curls around my face. It is such an invigorating moment for me. I imagine I am a hobbit in the shire partaking of the coveted Longbottom Leaf.
The land around me grows so still and quiet in this early morning moment. I quietly listen for and await the magical hour to arrive. It comes in almost an instant. First, one melodious call of a cardinal rings out in my backyard followed by the plaintive call of a mourning dove. The chorus of birds then grows and grows as the minutes pass. The magical hour arrives in a rush of bird song. I smile and take another long pull from my pipe. It is time to finally head for bed. I crawl out of my tent, zip up the door and head inside. I must get some sleep to awake in time this afternoon to enjoy another spectacle of a Southern summer: those wonderful afternoon thunderstorms. Good night, good world. You brought me much pleasure this morning.
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