Being the first awake, the first out of bed, was a state of existence that Sam had come to accept as inevitable. Almost every morning it would be him who had to carefully navigate the dreaming tangle of warm bodies in his bed, to climb out without waking Frodo or Rosie. Sometimes one or the other of them would shift irritably, sensing his leaving with a small sound of unconscious protest. When this happened, Sam would pause and wait, still as midnight water, for the sleeper to return to sleep. Much as he disliked leaving the warmth and comfort of his bed, he preferred to be the first and only to rise in the early morning.

One morning, a bite of approaching autumn in the air and a fine mist hanging over horizon off Michel Delving way, Sam was surprised to find young Sammie sitting on the garden bench with a book on his lap.

"What are you doing out here, lad? All your brothers and sisters are still wrapped up snug as puppies in their blankets."

"Good morning, Dad. I know they're all still asleep, that's why I'm out here. I like to have a taste of what the day's like before it gets trodden on by everyone."

Sam grinned. "Why, I do believe that's the reason I like the mornings too, though I've never thought to put it like that. Come along with me now, we'll go help your auntie Marigold milk her cows."

"Really? Hurrah!" Sammie jumped to his feet and impulsively hugged Sam. "I like the mornings by myself, but I think I like them even better with you in them."

~

Pretty Good Year | email Mary