Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I spend a couple of hours in the morning working downstairs in the woman cave. In that room, there’s a big south-facing picture window that looks out over the ridge; I’m busy, and don’t pay much attention to how the day is turning out.
In time, I head upstairs to grab a quick lunch and am surprised to find sunshine streaming in from the north window in the front room. I pause to look at the light. With a series of gray days behind us, it’s a delightful treat.
I decide to take advantage of it.
I move TV remotes, coasters, and a tissue box off of the side table, then move it to a space by the window that catches the sun. I make a few trips downstairs and back to retrieve my camera, tripod, black foam core, and a favourite black vase.
When I’ve got everything set up, I get the tulips from the kitchen. They’re starting to fade but I’m confident they’ll be fine subjects for a few more days.
I arrange and rearrange the tulips as I sit on the floor in the sunshine capturing image after image: quiet, content, and at peace. I remember this feeling. I’ve missed it.
Later, as I stand on the step at the front door waiting for Maya to find the perfect spot in which to relieve herself, I spy crocuses poking up in the front flower bed. And the day gets even better.
# # #
An afternoon baking marathon.
Licorice root tea.