No longer night but 'good morning' would be the welcome. In the warm attic room apart from the summer makeshift sleeping arrangements, I sit and sweat and breathe the real and raw outside air. The noise of the cars acts as small annoyance for sacrifice in the escape of the reconditioned cool of downstairs where sane mortals sleep and eat and dwell. My attic morning breeze escape. Mine and the dog's. Dollar the stuffed animal lap dog who looks out the window or sits guard on the floor with the yoga mat bed and ergonomic pillow. The pillow doesn't suit him. We sit in the early and late hours while the house sleeps. We write words of wisdom to help lead others in their purpose and we write our rantings here, where formality no longer exists. Hair uncombed, pizza crusts to the right and a beanbag prop behind my back defines who I can be in my attic morning breeze escape. Dollar can always be himself. It's why I like him so much. The breeze will subside, the sun will beat and the shades will be drawn to create my morning interval of rest, with Dollar remaining vigilant by my side. But the rain falls today to our joy and the breeze persists for a little while longer. We'll sit and listen and close our eyes to focus on the breeze crossing the room and reaching our awaiting, contented faces. It's to be a wonderful day in the attic.