Sunday Morning

I woke up to a pair of mourning doves at my windowsill cooing, it was 6:40am but felt much earlier and darker. (Hello, daylight savings.) On went the slippers. On went the music and the frying pan and the butter. It's rare I do myself a bacon breakfast but when you have it in the fridge resistance is futile. 

Bacon. Just crispy enough to hold its shape but not so crispy that it breaks when you bite into it. Yolks runny enough to soak in toast but not so runny that they're still cold. Ground pepper big enough to get endearingly stuck in your teeth. Coffee. And a lot of it.

This song is absolutely in order.