Our house silently waits for a brand new day. In the earliest morning, there is no world beyond the opaque windows around me, beyond my cup of coffee, my pen and journal. I recently started a new journal, but I don’t much like it. Yes, the cover is pretty, it has a satin ribbon to hold my place, the pages are lined, the edges gold-tipped. But the paper itself, the weight of the journal, something is off. The feel of a journal is important to me. (But I won’t waste paper, so I’ll continue using it.)
Lucy and Annabelle nestle beside me. They recognize this brand new day, this earliest morning time, the time that comes after sleep but before the day truly begins. It’s my preferred time to write, a time when my mind is rested, still somewhat in a dreamy state, unaffected by negative, external and internal. I protect this time fervently, and for the most part, they let me. With each small breath, their curled bodies float up and down, up and down. This is the quietest they will be today, yet their stillness could end instantaneously with an outside rustle imperceptible to me. The knowledge of this keeps me extra focused.
I seem to have forgotten how to make a cup of coffee. Mine is tasteless this morning. The lake is turning and our water is foul, so of course, it affects my coffee. Note to self: buy a jug of water for coffee making. First problem of the day solved.
The morning grows brighter. As more light gets in, the trees, the house next door, everything within my line of sight becomes washed in the same gray-purple tone. It’s a brand new day to do something good. To be someone good. Or at least to not add to the fray. I’ve grown weary of the conversation.
I have to believe if people sat face-to-face, side-by-side and really got to know one another, we’d find that beneath the rhetoric, we all want the same things. Freedom. Kindness. A certain quality of life. Safety for family, friends, self. Good health and access to healthcare. Equality. A fair wage.
Everyone reacts differently. Everyone expresses themselves differently. I know this. I sometimes forget.
When morning comes in earnest, it comes quickly. The house is surrounded by trees, a bouquet of green tinted with fall. Light lets morning in, a wider world from the space inside myself.
For me, this new day is already better than yesterday because I’ve taken the time to tell myself, to write a few words, to re-set. What about you? How will you make your day better?
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Morning Has Broken, Cat Stevens