What isn’t a sign this morning?
Though there was no rain since yesterday’s early morning, the ground was damp and the blades of grass glistened with droplets as though the blanket of fog was rain enough to soak the ground for another day. Is it a sign that the world is still nourishing itself or is it a sign of resilience that plants will forage for moisture regardless of the weather.
What isn’t a sign this morning?
The piles of bedding waiting to be washed are the mementos of the loving presence of friends who stayed over the weekend, blessing us with love and community and food, the washing a small joy of providing hospitality.
What isn’t a sign this morning?
The remnants of chiffon cake and candles half burnt, an after glow of ash, wax and crumbs, the fading echos of birthday wishes and smiles.
What isn’t a sign this morning?
Billy, patient at my feet, wanting a walk but waiting quietly while I work, quieting her desires in trust that eventually, I will rise to give her the gift of the world around our home.