Summer is dissipating into cooler nights smashed between shorter days. For decades migrating butterflies too up residence in my stomach. Inspiration, hope, dreams, expectations, and excitement fluttered into existence once August came about. This year the butterflies must have taken a new route toward their winter home. I grudgingly roll out of bed to practice a morning routine. The early morning offers sounds of rushed highway traffic and the late night cricket chorus, but even the birds have not yet hopped from their nests to sing wake up calls.