morning

Each morning I slip out of bed early. Lou-dog pads silently out of the room with me, leaving Buck to roll over in the warm space, hug my pillow, and dream a while longer.

The cedar and sage scent from a bar of soap greets me, a reliable standing stone symbol. Dried peonies hang over the framed photo I took years ago when, on a fire-line walk in our woods, I happened upon a field of blooming pitcher plants. The photo is a touchstone from a time that I was braver in my woods walking, less fearful of the coyotes and snakes who live here, too.

I was drawn to the small pine cone. It had fallen from a tree on the far side of our gate down by the main road. After several days of seeing it on a morning walk, I popped it into my jacket pocket, where it stayed another week, nestled into the soft, dark fabric. Now, I see it each morning and ponder while I brush my teeth: Why does seeing this little cone add to my feelings of comfort and joy?

Thanks for stopping by. What are you writing about today?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.