The season has turned, mornings are cooler, but I still haul my laptop out to the best desk ever. That would be the glass-topped table that’s tucked under the rose arbor on our deck.

It may not be the place to sit when deep concentration is required. There’s too much to look at and listen to: the poplar whose leaves are just starting to turn at its crown, the liquid sound of blue jays calling to each other, the hawk crying from the oak next door. During rose season an errant petal may float down and land on my lap. But I love sitting here. I feel inspired and enabled. I seem to draw strength from the green, growing things around me.

I’ve worked in cubicles and carrels, at wide tables, and once, for a few months, in a converted closet. My office desk, where I park myself when it’s too cold to sit outside, has a similar view — more expansive since its higher up but less immersive since it’s inside.

But today, and I hope for a few more weeks, I’ll be working at the best desk ever.