I lay in my bed next to my dreaming husband, enjoying the stillness of the morning. Before the fingers of light creep across the sky, the birds wake and begin, one by one, to chirp their welcome of the dawn. The rooster adds his brash note to the chorus, my cue to embrace another day. I step out onto the patio grateful for the sweatshirt that curbs the moist chill of dawn. Across the dew drenched lawn I walk, breathing deep the scent of damp earth. The barn looms out of the dispursing mist and adds a pungent odor of hay, animals and manure. The cow greets me with her low voice eager for the relief of milking. I take my place on the stool by her side, resting my head on her fuzzy flank. Left, right, left, right, rhythmically the milk squirts into the bucket pinging gently off its metal sides. Next, I throw the chickens their corn and fill my basket with eggs. Laden with treasures of warm eggs and steaming milk, I return across the lawn to the house. The sun has begun to paint the eastern sky with subtle hues of pink and yellow making me pause to enjoy the view. The black and white world of night surrenders to the colors of day. My flowers add an echo to the sunrise, splashing the yard with cheerful accents. A current of air carries to me the aroma of fresh coffee bringing a smile to my face as I know my love has arisen and awaits me at the door. He holds it open for me, relieving me of the frothing bucket of milk and planting a kiss on my flushed cheek as I pass. Thus begins a summer morning on a farm nestled in the hills of New England.