Observations that turn us inward and grateful
My cat has curled into a pause that has slipped into the sound of a deep rest.
Which reminds me how often this time of year I become a bear in search of a cave.
I can’t help myself.
I not only crave cozy socks and my favorite worn out sweaters and books, but foods that warm and tend to need a longer time simmering so the flavors mingle deeper.
The garlic roasts. The veggies bake. The scones dance with cranberries and orange curls and turbinado sugar.
My fingertips become a conduit with my dreams.
Time overlaps into pockets where lint lives in the smallest space like a nest for some imaginary critter.
Walks in the cold are insulated and sounds are quieter.
The door inside of my strongest thoughts feel very welcomed.
I putter and pace even more and thought bubbles pop and multiple like wee iridescent rainbows.
I cry more. I feel it all more; the abrasions seem to raise from the soul’s earth into this very, very delicate space.
To imagine observing my cat as he sleeps brought me the enchantment of such sacredness that even these very written words are a whisper.