I am eating breakfast alone this morning as Warren is giving a talk to an early morning Rotary group. We almost always eat breakfast together.
He just drove off and I am sitting at the kitchen table, with the early morning light just coming through the trees, listening to the birds outside.
My notebook is open in front of me and I am writing these lines out longhand.
The day promises to be hot - the last hot one of a short string of them. I plan on walking to the library first thing this morning before it gets hot to swap my books.
Right now, though, it is cool. There is just enough breeze to clatter the kitchen blinds a bit and stir the wind chimes hanging in the dogwood tree.
I have a lot on my mind. There is a blog post or two stirring around. There are bills to pay and chores to do. My hours have dropped off at court due to changing projects and priorities, so I am stretching already tight dollars a little tighter. I am missing my far-flung children a lot. Little things, big things. The kitchen table still holds a few empty canning jars and I wonder, idly, if I could can my thoughts and put them on the shelf.
I smile at the thought of canning up my cares and concerns.
There is plenty to put my hand to, and I know I need to start the day. But for now, for this moment, I am content to sit here, watch the morning light rise, and welcome the day.