Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Wednesday morning

Early on summer mornings the light filters into the house just a little bit differently.  It is mottled, twinkling, playful, brighter.  I make tea every morning the same way -- in my underwear and a t-shirt, still sleepy, the dogs surrounding me, waiting for their breakfast biscuits -- and look outside for birds while the kettle boils. Today feels different. The house is full again. The light is optimistic. The boy is home from college, now a grown man.  There is a table outside with a cloth on it, a few eucalyptus leaves, reminiscent of the time of year when we eat outside. The red geranium, stolen from a friend's garden in Oxfordshire, is strong as a small tree in its pot.  Everything is blue and yellow in this California light. And the spotteds lay themselves decorously across the floors and the sofas, faithful in the knowledge that there will be fields to run in in their future.


AQ: said...

I forgot to note on my earlier visit that this is a peaceful read. Is it me or is this week going by fast? (I like to think that everyone's on the same wavelength)

Kcecelia said...

This is a gorgeous post, Bumble. I can feel your blue and yellow morning. I am glad your son is home, and that he and the spotteds are so well loved.

AQ: said...

Actually, know what I remembered before I went to sleep last night!? That when I woke up yesterday morning there was a really flat, particularly glowy, calming sunlight that came in through the trees outside my window and I woke up not too lazily- but just happy to get up partly because of this, whereas other days I have to really force myself to stumble into the shower- MAYBE there's something to Wednesday mornings! Anyway, I remembered your post upon remembering how I woke up.