Saturday Morning

It's cold outside, but the sun is bright. I sit at my dining room table, directly in the sun path, drinking it in like a dog, even though it makes me squint, even though I'll have a headache if I stay here for an hour. The warmth on my hands and arms feels like rebirth. I wait for Spring like a lover.

Everything is quiet (even the dog has settled down to a nap). The day has already been active, and I've just filled myself with clean, simple food. Later, friends will come. Later, I'll go to the store. I'll walk the dog. I'll bake. Right now, there is nothing that I must do.

It's the sort of morning when things are clear, when dreams jump from water to land and just lie there, in obvious view, so I can have a long look. Even the path up to the dream seems simple--eat, sleep, think, write, eat, sleep, think, write. Read, read, read, write. Eat, sleep ...

Life will pick up pace again soon, and I'm sure my insecurities will follow. For right now, though, all is well. It's Saturday morning. In February. 2007. The sun is shining. I am feeling fine.