It's quiet here, just now, the morning of our first full day of heading back to the sun. Solstice arrived last night at 10:27 while I lay sleeping. Each new day will bring us a few more seconds of precious sunlight, that promise of Spring on her way. All the years of my growing up, I remember my dad looking at the calendar and saying, "Today, we head back to the sun." It seemed a silly thing to me at the time, although I smiled at his enthusiasm, but I finally realized, in my adulthood, why it was so important. It was the promise. The anticipation. The concrete realization that Winter, no matter how bleak it was at the moment, was already doomed. It would be replaced in weeks with softer, warmer air, the greening of the earth, new buds and leaves on the trees. Life would begin anew.
The quiet feels good. Even Inky is still, napping in his hammock after an arduous morning of keeping me on track in the kitchen while I prepare breakfast (his and mine) and reminding me exactly where the geographical center of the floor is. This ever-so-important task is accomplished by lying on the spot and, because I have a bad habit of wanting to use that spot at least a dozen times in the course of the morning, it requires a great deal of courage on his part. After all, if a fat woman trips over you and falls on you, well you might say you're risking your life by performing this valuable service!
With my geo-locator asleep, the outdoors brightening ahead of the sunrise, warm air spilling from the floor register and wrapping around my bare ankles, and a fresh cup of dark, strong, Colombian coffee at hand, it's a lovely, peaceful morning to look forward - to Christmas and the new year, and the certainty of Spring.
No comments:
Post a Comment