Morning may be my most consistently favorite part of the day. Lazy summer afternoons, the splendid sunsets of winter, the hazy late mornings of fall–I love them all, but mornings seem to consistently be a favorite no matter the season. In particular: weekend mornings.

During the work week my mornings are rushed. If I am working in my office, I hop out of bed, rush to get dressed, and get out the door within a half hour. I have my breakfast and coffee at my desk while going through my emails. If I’m working from home, it’s slightly less chaotic. There’s the bleary-eyed login to my computer, then I find my way downstairs to stare at my Keurig as coffee pours into my cup. I return to my desk–positioned next to our third-floor window–and drink my coffee with a view of the trees and their various yearly forms; bare, neon green leaves, thick and full, or brightly colored. The sun pours over the roof of our town home and highlights the trees from different angles depending on the time of the year.

But it’s the weekend mornings that I favor. The weekend mornings where the world is quiet beside the hum of insects or drip of rain or rush of fallen leaves in the breeze. My fiancĂ© sleeps long and deep, something my type A personality didn’t like before. I wanted him up, for breakfast to be made immediately, for us to get the show on the road. But I’ve taught myself that to pause in the morning is best. While he sleeps, I have the world to myself. The cats curl up next to me on the couch and I sip my coffee while looking out our window. The bird feeder invites a number of chittering birds; waking the cats up to stare with intensity at their prey.


I find this time perfect for reading or browsing over photography. It’s my moment to truly apply all of my emotion and attention to what I have at hand. The world around me is quiet, with a lack of distractions, and it seems to welcome me into its arms.

I also find the mornings spent at cafes to be wonderfully special. While I suddenly lack the silence of my home, I’m still apart from everything and able to observe. But sometimes, I am able to view it all with that familiar silence.

While in New Orleans this summer, we went to a restaurant just as it opened. New Orleans is a city that appreciates late mornings. Their structure welcomes late nights so why would anything start at what I consider an “early morning time?” It’s a struggle to find places to get food before nine but with some research, it’s possible.

We found ourselves in Jackson Square at a restaurant overlooking the cathedral. Beside a lone man and one other couple, the place was empty as it had only opened a half hour beforehand. We sat beside French doors and looked out at the square where tarot card and palm readers were setting up tables covered in brightly colored cloth. The restaurant within was cool, the servers quiet, the conversations low. The ding of my spoon against my coffee cup rang out, but no one seemed to notice. We ate quietly, preferring to focus on the atmosphere and food, to focus on our own thoughts, than to speak. Now wasn’t the time for conversation. The introspective morning was to be had, and had it would, no matter if I were to be sitting on my couch or in a cafe.

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