I love mornings. I like the word "morning."
Just one letter away from loss and a reminder of the room for growth because of it.
Christmas morning is only a few weeks away and the only things I've blogged about are less-than-perfect grades and sex slaves. I mean really Lindsay. Obviously Christmas is not a suspension of everything unfortunate in the world but it is a good time to take all the little pieces of love in your life in both hands and smoosh it up against your heart. We should do this all the time, really, but it is a lot nicer with twinkly lights everywhere.
We haven't put any Christmas decorations up at my house yet but luckily my neighbors are with the program and I can see their lights from my bedroom window at night. (There are these strategically placed bushes in front of my window which allow me to see out and no one to see in. Which would be more awesome if there were something for me to spy on besides coyotes. You guys. One time a deer walked right up onto my deck while I was sitting out there. WHAT am I talking about.)
Misty mornings.
(SO FOGGY. I wasn't driving, so relax.
I'm not that reckless you guys, have a little faith.)
Mornings when it's Thanksgiving and your pumpkins come out
looking a little bit more like actual pumpkins.
(I'm obsessed with these oreo truffles.
Coming soon: Christmas/New Year/Birthday versions.
YOU'RE EXCITED.)
Mornings when you make your brother come over
and assist you on Top Secret Missions.
Mornings when the sky is as purple as the grass that grows in a place you used to love.
Mornings when you just don't feel like washing your hair.
So you don't. And it's fine. Also economical.
Mornings that lead to nights filled with fairy lights.
And some little pieces of love in between:
"I have a secret
which I have learned how to read inside myself;
if I told it to you,
it would make you laugh.
My two eyes
are maps of the planet—
I see everything
and nothing upsets me.
I will be around
when you aren’t thinking about me,
without hair or a neck,
without a nose and cheeks
no reputation—
there won’t be anything.
My heart is naked
and no one can put clothes on it,
and nothing can be put on
that will not immediately fall off.
But if I go away
without giving you a name to remember me with,
how will I find
the right dream to return to?
Je suis un oiseau
Enchanté:
Amour que Dieu
A inventé."
(I am a bird
which God made.)
Thomas Merton
