Oh, but of course ambience is a French word.  It makes sense that the culture who taught us how to eat properly added a word to their lexicon to describe the intangible feeling a place gives you —especially while dining. 

I pawed at that word “ambience” this morning when my husband quietly rose to brew coffee and materialized with a tray of French toast, juice, coffee and a splash of peanut butter on the plate.  There we sat in the bed, passing the newspaper back and forth, approving of this and hating that with the dog inches from my plate– full puppy eyes pressed into her paws.

The cool spring unfolded outside and I glanced out the window that cradles the bed trying to catch a glimpse of Mr. Fox who took up residence this winter under our deck.  Yesterday he yawned and curled into a circle in the sun out in the yard and I couldn’t help but think of him under the deck enjoying our morning.  The ambience of breakfast in bed, our smug fox guest, the perfect company of a doting husband and a begging dog made me glad. 

Fox den view from the dog house

sunbathing fox


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