Archives for posts with tag: morning

Depending on which route I take to work, I am either constantly trying to see the wondrous clouds illuminated with sunlight through the rear window mirror or I’m looking over my shoulder, taking peeks as I drive by on the open road.

This day in particular, something in the quality of the light and the soft tones made me see–made me feel that this was God. I could see the large flat brush in his hands as he streaked it across the backdrop of blue light that he first laid down, and because this was God’s brush, it looked alive, the light danced behind that long line of cloud, luminescent; so simple, yet so profound, causing a movement in my soul. I wanted to capture it, but in a way it’s best I couldn’t. I could only surrender to the moment, soak in every bit of it before it disappeared.


With hot chocolate in hand, I start the engine, gaze at the thick fog before me. Audio book streams in the background as my attention follows a group of seagulls circling above. At that moment, I’m taken to the ocean. One seagull continues to circle and I can see the grace and strength of his wings as the audio book becomes mere sound, my attention elsewhere, following the joy of the seagull in flight. I reach for my phone; the seagull makes one last pass, then departs, leaving me with a feeling of fullness and appreciation for the moment.

Holiday music fills the kitchen;
doggies snuggle in their beds,
waiting for all to rise.

We try to take each day as it comes,
living each moment as best we can,
seeking the lessons—
the ‘gifts’ within the challenges presented.

In this moment…the air releases a fine mist,
wrapping me in a coolness that comforts.

Back inside, I sit here with my mother-in-law as she works her crossword, her TV show in the background. I look at the words on the page, watching the thoughts dribble out as I tap the letters on the screen.

Peace and Love to all, and may you have a Merry Christmas.

Last week was filled with moods colored by the feeling of something outside of myself that I was letting inside, or perhaps what I was feeling on the inside was coloring how things looked on the outside. I suppose it’s always a little bit of both.

I enjoy my daily beverage from Starbucks each morning–a guilty pleasure on many levels. I usually reheat my mocha in the microwave and on one morning last week, the lid fell on the counter, and with everyone being sick, I tossed it in the trash and took the cup to my desk, being careful not to tumble it over. After a while, I noticed more words than just my name, and saw that the Barista or someone had written on the cup, near where the lid was, “Have a great day : )” I needed to hear those words in that moment–I needed a positive lift to remind me that the moods of the week would pass. I wasn’t feeling especially bad at that moment, but it just felt good to have someone practice a random act of kindness in this way.

If I hadn’t dropped the lid, I may not have seen the message hidden just out of reach underneath.


On my daily walks, I try to find something that I haven’t noticed before or that brings a smile to my face. This little yellow flower was one of the little beauties that sought me out.

The rays of the sun pushed
through the clouds–
broad, downward brushstrokes
filled with the energy of the sun.

This morning the calm blue sky complimented how I felt driving down the road, as I admired the trees and caught two crows dashing back and forth, I greeted this Moday with a happy hello. 

The past two nights I’ve fallen asleep at 10:00 p.m., only to wake up at around midnight, still feeling groggy, but having the urge to continue the day’s reading, so I read for two to three hours. Both nights I went back to sleep around 3:00 a.m. On the first night, laying In bed I became acutely aware of how quiet it was. The house wasn’t gurgling and creaking. I didn’t hear cars. I kept trying to imagine how one describes the sound of silence, of this perfectly quiet sound.

The only way that I could do that in my thoughts was to think of all the sounds that I couldn’t hear: birds chirping and cawing; the breeze rattling the window blinds and making the trees sing; the neighbors talking, listening to music, the children laughing and crying; cars humming by in the distance; and then I heard one lone bird let out a squawk or squeal. He broke the silence for that one millisecond and the silence resumed.

The second night–last night, as I lay in bed at that early morning hour again, ready for sleep, this time I heard the crickets. I don’t hear them often. I took in their music, then they stopped. It was another quiet night, but this time after the restless night continued, I could hear the light wind and feel it on my face.

In the quiet, I could almost hear the beating of my own heart, feel the pulse beating in my hand. I imagined the great night sky overhead, stars twinkling their eyes opened and closed.

Right now it’s morning time. I woke at 8:00 a.m., trying to decide if I felt that I got enough sleep. I can hear the absence from the night before. The silence has been filled, but not completely. There’s still quiet in the air.

whirring fan spins above
one last sip of tea–
the day has begun,
yet it begins again

As I wake,
cool air slips through the open window
caressing my cheeks and forehead with its freshness.
Small birds chatter away, a single crow sounds his horn–
and then my senses perk up as I hear the familiar
and welcome sound of Canadian Geese pass overhead,
with their deep guttural, honk-honk–I take a deep breath,
smile, and live in the moment of waking.

This morning as I walked out of the house, I heard a flutter and looked up to see three Robbins land on the front rocks.

I stopped and soaked in the moment, feeling as though time had paused.

I felt an immediate calm like when church bells ring or a Buddhist meditation bell sounds. I looked upon the Robbins who seemed to fly from nowhere just to say hello, to bring peace as I started the day.

With appreciation I looked upon the Robbins, that one beautiful moment–three beautiful moments, perfect as it was.