I love my kitchen in the morning at this time of year. It’s dark when I pad from our bedroom to the kitchen to make the first cup of coffee. The only light comes from the AeroGarden that comes on automatically at around 4:30 am. It’s warmer in here than in the bedroom where the
It’s just after four when I stand at the microwave watching the red numbers count down from seventy-seven. The Keurig coughs and spurts out elixir behind me. Oh God, you have brought me in safety to this new day. That thing in my body that’s been causing me trouble still burns, that concern in my
I’m drawn out to the deck by splendour in the morning sky. I lean against the railing, hands cupped around a warm cup of coffee, and worship as I look to the east. My whispered prayers mingle with the sounds of day beginning in the valley below. In the distance, from the valley, comes the
The pre-dawn sky looks something like this. Not quite, because the miracle never looks the same more than once. I watch as it grows more spectacular with every passing second. Glory, I say in the quiet of my mind. Gerry gets up to make coffee and pauses as he passes the east facing open door in
I surface from slumber in prayer and a still, small whisper tells me something I’m prone to forget. You’re carrying a burden that isn’t yours to carry. I know, but . . . I do that so often. I try to justify my worries as if my particular circumstance is beyond the scope of the
Gerry leaves early for a hike and I putter in the kitchen making pasta salad and a big batch of granola. It’s 9:00 when everything’s done, cleaned up, and put away: the time I head down to the woman cave to write. But the sun is shining and it is warm outside. The deck looks
I wake in the middle of the night with melancholy; I rest in silent prayer for things too deep to write. Then morning, and a red and beautiful eastern sky, and I sit in my bed for a while watching it change and grow brighter as Gerry and Maya slumber. I decide to try to