It’s one of those dark mornings, when the night never really ends. It’s good and thundery out, and the rain can’t make up its mind whether or not it cares. It spits or pours on the debris in our back yard – Snert’s bike (oops), the roller skate in the rose bush, bats and things.
Inside, we’re cozy. I’ve had my two cups of coffee, snug in my chair. Snert is finally up, banging doors. I don’t know if there’s much in life that’s more pleasant than a morning started off right. I see us spending the rest of it in front of the fire, reading our favorite books and dreaming about the Spring that’s just under ground. I know it is.
But we don’t have a fireplace, and I get so lazy about reading.
Here’s to the infinite possibility of the day just begun – the peace and warmth inside when it’s booming outside. A metaphor for the soul, what?I hope so, anyway.
I’m so glad to have a home.