It’s dark when I wake and I spend the first moments of the day in silent conversation with the divine. I have questions. Requests. But mostly I just bask in the holy presence. I’m sipping soy milky frothy coffee from a favourite mug as the eastern sky grows pink. I watch as the hues change
The first rays of morning sun kiss the trees in the green space behind our home and the lilac bush in the yard and the green takes on a hue that is nothing short of brilliant. The right light makes all the difference. I think of the words of a verse I had tacked to the
The sun rises and kisses the trees with light so golden it makes me believe in magic. And the hills across the valley are spring-green. And purple lilac buds grow plump. And yesterday morning I saw, too many to count, mountain bluebirds flit back and forth from the budding Virginia creeper to the lawn and back
I wake from a dream in which someone stands in my bedroom doorway, tells me she feels like she’s getting the flu, and then comes and sits in the edge of my bed to chat. My thoughts upon waking go something like this. No. I’m not allowing this pandemic to enter my dreams and steal
We wake and check the news and, yes, the world is still in chaos. A low grade something simmers within. We choose not to walk in fear and we seek reputable news sources but there’s no denying things are churning. We make jokes (some memes had us chuckling out loud last night before bed) and shake
I miss the awe of watching the changing eastern sky in the early morning when morning whispers and night tiptoes into obscurity. For many months now, when I wake shortly after 4 a.m., I’ve chosen to spend the first silent hours under a Sherpa blanket in the den, with a basket of supplies (Bible, notebook,
We’re at the walking track one morning and I see a young man I went to high school with on the exercise equipment. It’s not, of course, but it takes a couple of laps before I realize that it can’t possibly be him. The mind plays tricks when it comes to age. It does the