It’s the kind of morning where you slept on the couch because you tossed and turned for an hour before you decided to be kind to your Man who doesn’t sleep when you don’t and therefore, hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. And you wake up on the couch and realize you just had the best sleep you have had in a year.
A morning where it’s 4:30 am and the house is as still as a church the day after Christmas and you realize, I’ve missed being up and about this time time of the day.
The kind of morning that kitties come running to greet you; wondering why it’s still dark, but happy to receive their morning treat. The treat that only comes from you and only first thing in the morning. And suddenly they scatter, tails up, eight soft pads moving quickly across the kitchen floor because the puppy is up.
A morning you stand in front of the coffee pot and can’t see beyond your own reflection in the kitchen window; can’t see through the darkness but you know the trees and soon, the sun, await on the other side of the glass.
And you say aloud, “crap” as you realize you are out of raw sugar and will have to settle, again, for the addicting white substance you have come to loathe.
The kind of morning where coffee isn’t needed; it’s wanted. And it’s greeted like an old friend you see daily but haven’t had a heart to heart with in ages.
It’s a morning where you feel hope for the first time in a long season of grief and despair. Hope that sits on your heart and refuses to move. That pushes the past to the back of your brain where it is seen and felt but can not wound.
A morning where the government has officially “shut down” and you know that on the other side of the TV remote there awaits a mob of experts blaming him and her and them and each other and you sip from your ceramic mug assured by Him, the One who is eternally in control, that this too shall pass.
An October morning where you are itching to light the fireplace but won’t as it will herald the arrival of The Holiday’s. As if the retailers haven’t already.
A morning you woke up and your second thought was, “I start a new journal today” and you spend a few moments dreaming through the ritual of that first clean page that awaits the pressure of a favorite purple pen gliding across its lines, crowding out the vastness with the details of life. And you can’t wait to get started.
A morning when you catch yourself thinking a brand new house would be lovely and then you hear the faint squeak of the oak floorboards and you recognize the sound of your Man’s footsteps. And you realize how calming the sound is to your soul and you whisper a thanks for old houses that become homes.
The kind of morning you wish every morning could be.
Love you guys.
