Spending most of my morning hours cooped up indoors, despite my office with a view, I find mornings to be more abstract construction than reality. Most of the time, life in an office is rather homogenous. Time of day, week, month, or year, it’s all the same. The scene outside my window slowly shifts, but I rarely associate the view with the barrage of senses being “in it” provides. On those rare occasions when the sight of a clear spring morning tickles my imagination, having a window is a curse. The smell of nature’s spring potpourri is in the air. The last wisps of cool, dry air linger from winter. Walking through chill shadows among the trees, there are sparse hints of warmth shining through the branches, like the sun’s promise of better things to come.

And then the phone rings, abruptly bringing my mind back indoors. I’ll take a rain check on that promise,