I dragged my bleary, semi-conscious hide out to the kitchen and poured my morning coffee into a tacky, tall ceramic mug with the image of the USCG Eagle emblazoned on the front. I’m sure the only reason the coffee actually got in the cup is due to years of routine. Oatmeal cookie for breakfast? No. Not now. I walked back to my office stopping to toss on my black Reed fleece. I shivered. In my office, I walked to the window drawn by the call of a lone blackbird sitting atop a now yellowing Silver Maple tree. It’s cold this morning. Outside I can see all my paddling gear swaying lightly on a carousel clothes line that resembles an inverted umbrella broken in heavy wind. It’s all wet again. On another old post that held my grandmothers clotheslines may years ago, still wet skirts hang heavy and limp. I’d thought of taking the old post down many times. But why? It’s a perfect place to hang heavy gear. I took my camera off the counter and snapped a few pictures out the window. Some in color. Some in black and white. I fiddled with exposures to keep the clouds from becoming nothing but a white wall over our tiny mountains. The blackbird launched out over the corn and called repeatedly as he glided away. Under the heavy gloss of the morning mist my old black jeep looks new. Resting on the roof, my kayak is without a scratch.