It’s the perfect day to be outdoors. The afternoon is crisp, the sky a cerulean dream, the weather; mid-fifties calm. No plans, no schedules, no meet-up and get-togethers, no strings attached, nothing except a humming tune of a day’s passing.
And yet here we are: My mind says “Lay out the picnic blankets! The wine! (Not for me since I’m still nursing - boo!) The cheese! I want the sun in my face! And yet my body cannot deny the animal magnetism that is our bed and our homey sheets. Oh blankie.
The day is not wasted. Outside, something stirs in the garden. The quiet unfolding of a season. Great strides are taken to turn wheels of the year and yet all we see is a tiny yellow bud.
Tiny Buds
Everything has its own time. Even picnics. When all things are hushed, small wonders come about like little faeries that have come to spread glittery dust over your eyes and let’s you see the world for what it truly is.
My sleeping Loves. It may not seem much but in the stillness of her slumber her heart beats to the rhythm of growth (they say it’s when they’re asleep that they grow).
Fast asleep with Floppy the Fluff. Her favorite little toy.
There Hubby too, is resting. His body relaxed, clearing the decks for another long work week ahead.
Today, I am reminded of the intricacy and the inner workings of a quiet Sunday--and grateful for it.
And what about me? The words of Annie Dillard lingers on: Spend the afternoon, you can't take it with you. Even a speck of dust is a constant reminder: Be still. Wait. The day is not wasted. I just spent it on much self-reflection and it's worth every second.
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