Days Like This
Nothing is more refreshing than waking up well rested, sunlight twinkling below the blinds and dancing on the floor. The sheets are warm, the pillow is soft, and the body is relaxed. What better way to begin a week than to wake up like this and then bake a hot breakfast?
The smell of freshly-baked sweet scones and dripping coffee make my entire apartment smell like a home. Even when a chilly October gust leaks through the crooked sill of my kitchen window, the room is warm and rich with scents and sounds and comfort. Birds sing thanks for the new seed on the deck.
Wrapped in the fleece of my dearest Matt and padding along the hallway in worn slippers, it’s the first time I will be ready to leave the house ahead of schedule. Weather.com is insistently assuring me that it will be WINDY (when they don’t put up a picture of the weather, they mean it.) So, it’s a sweater day despite the glowing sun. No bother, I have hot coffee and a warm scone and a crisp Winesap apple, right off the tree.
My walk is decorated with golden leaves and the babbling creek. The wind is cool but not cold, and the sun is warm but not hot. Moderation seems to be the theme of the day, especially since I managed to limit myself to only two scones.
Chapel is full of good friends and friendly faces. The speaker was good, the company familiar and the time well-spent.
My Monday schedule provides some leniency and a calm transition from October break.
It’s funny how I can write a post so fragmentary when my heart is so full of joy. It’s strange how detachment can allow me to look back at my morning and see the delight in it while being so matter-of-fact. Yesterday, I fought my way back to Houghton in pouring rain and darkness and was rewarded with Matt waiting for me with dinner. Tonight I’m celebrating being Artist of the Week and an open schedule by attempting my first meatloaf dinner. If we can’t delight in the small things, life will become dark and dull very fast.
It’s days like this that remind me why I’m alive.