I can’t remember the specifics but it was strange.

Make the coffee, make a lunch, drink water. I make a slice of toast. Coffee. There’s time for me to sit this morning.

Emails in that inbox keep piling up. I will need a dedicated morning for it sometime this week.

I like the way the little stream reflects the morning light. I always look for it: a curl of glimmering water amongst the green pasture.

This guy is funny.

There is no way I can use that drip pot. Maybe I will take it home to clean. I look over the kitchen area and then make my way over to the tasting room’s break room to see if they have a Keurig in there. Nothing. I take myself and my empty cup back to my desk. He offers to make me an americano with his espresso machine. Well, hot damn. I wish I had seen it earlier.

Note to self: obtain coffee pot for office.

Lunch under the peppercorn tree overlooking the vineyard.

I tell him that I worry that I am not doing enough. He reminds me that it’s only my second day.

What would it be like to exist without the unnecessary pressure I put upon myself? When did I develop the habit of overworking? And why?

I look at all of their faces and, wow. They are not babies anymore.