Weekends. When the rest of the world is out doing, I am home being.
I say a prayer upon rising then amble down to the kitchen to make my coffee concoction. I smile at all the jars of extra nutrition I put into it, amused at the potion it has become. More often than not a wistful memory surfaces around this ritual. I let it come. On other days, I am inclined to discipline myself about certain emotions that sometimes threaten to rule. But on weekends, we have the luxury of sitting together until I can send them gently on their way. Then I throw open the doors and windows, welcome air and light into my home, feeling every part of me finally waking up. I sit on the lanai chair that gives me the best view of my garden and sip my morning elixir. Already I am in a space of gratitude for this home and life I am so very fortunate to have. I walk barefoot on the grass and stand in the middle of my space on this earth. I take in the ground beneath me, receive the sky above me and feel myself right at the center of their generosity.