When I woke up the first time this morning, it was already light. Fifteen minutes later, or twenty, I got up to let the dog in, or out, he couldn't quite make up his mind.
Yesterday, when my son and I were driving to the hospital, I said to him, if I can just sleep till 8, I feel like a million bucks. Having just slept till 8, and feeling like a million bucks. He agreed--just until 8 really pretty much does it.
This morning, when I got up, it was just about 8. I didn't feel like a million bucks, quite, but I felt pretty good.
It was quiet. Later, we planned to take a grandson out to lunch for his birthday. I had some quasi, maybe plans for the other parts of the day. But it was quiet, and I decided to stay quiet if I could, just for the morning.
Out we went to lunch, our birthday card in hand. The sun struck the tops of the mountains, covered with snow from this week's weather. We drove through the streets and neighborhoods instead of the highway.
"There's blossom already," the historian noted.
"I know, isn't it beautiful?" I said.
There's something about the light and the warmth right now--I like the way the weather is cool and warm at the same time, how I can feel the chill on my skin but I like it.
I slept for an hour, maybe, this afternoon. The sun coming in the window, the air cool on my feet.
We went out to a movie and when it was over, we walked out into the evening. I don't really want to say it, the word for the almost-season--I don't want to jinx it--but here it is, in all but words. Just one brief singing syllable.