This morning the weather was totally perfect. It's chilly and crisp and very sunny. I'm sitting here in my office staring out the window at the red tiled roof and the warm yellowish red brick across the street. The brick isn't really orange -- more of a warm toned pale red -- what I would call a venetian red. It's still fairly quiet, a lot people both faculty and students aren't awake yet.

I didn't start out in life as a morning person. In my wild and checkered youth I really enjoyed staying up late and then sleeping in. Slowly over the years I've come to enjoy the brief time I get leaving the house, waiting for the bus and walking the few steps to the building. Mornings hold such promise to me, a place to be anew. Even the chill this morning wasn't enough to dampen my enjoyment of the moment.

Across the street from the bus stop is this tall sycamore tree in a neighbors front yard. It's a beautiful tree. There's always a different story it tells when I stand there. Sometimes I see only it's silhouette, a few leaves clinging to the branches, the seed pods hanging like ornaments. This past summer was so hot that a lot of its leaves fell so it already looked autumn like before our brief fall actually started. Other times , I can see the morning stars in amidst its branches or the first early colors of the dawn. The tree makes the wait for the bus just a little friendlier.