It was a gorgeous crisp morning in the Highlands. Though it should have felt like the dog days of summer, it was a cool 65 degrees on this August Monday. A sleepy, coffee-abstaining nanny decided to take her charge, a charming and lovable 11 month old redhead boy on an early morning walk, partially for exercise, partially to put him into a peaceful and hopefully hour-long slumber, and partially to wake herself up. The sounds of lawn mowers, weed wackers and hammers filled the air, and as she walked past the open screen doors of the old and well-kept homes, NPR and women's voices drifted out. She saw mothers pushing babies in strollers with dogs on leashes, people leaving for work or dropping children off at school, painters painting already white houses, an old man taking a slow walk by himself. She saw a curious orange cat, a message board and a bucket of chalk in someone's garden for messages, and birds convening on a rooftop for a morning chat. She saw light, sunshine, flowers, possibility. As the baby prince slept in his yellow carriage she saw so many things. She saw Morning in Louisville.
