This morning I woke up early, wedged between my kids and my husband.
Four-across in a king-sized bed.
Both of my kids mutter sweetness in their sleep and honestly, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Serious sweetness. Even at 2 AM it's yummy. (Usually.)
This morning though my hip was aching from not rolling over and I couldn't resettle so I got up early.
5:30.
As I came downstairs I noticed a feeling in my legs I haven't had since gardening season. The delicious ache of having done something with these muscles I've been granted.
In this case, skiing yesterday - breaking trail through the deep just fallen snow with the kids. Putting back the path that wind and the last storm had erased.
This morning though the ski trail - and everything else in the field - was unseen. Just darkness outside my window. The moon was hanging over the barn, getting ready to tuck in and the sun was still sound asleep behind the eastern hills.
My house and the world beyond was cold and dark.
And quiet.
Quiet is a treat in this chapter of my life. I'm so rarely alone.
So I made a pot of tea and spent some time writing, wrapped up in a blanket, sitting at the kitchen table. I'm finally finding my groove with the book I'd like to write, and carving out a moment of time to work was a gift.
And the sky brightened.
And one child awoke.
We headed to the barn to feed the bottle lambs.
And then, before the sun had crested the hills the two of us snapped into our skis and headed around the loop trail one time before breakfast.
And before I knew it the day had begun.
And this morning I realized that like you, I am rich.
Rich in time spent cuddled with my favorite people in a warm and cozy nest.
Rich with a moment of silence, enjoyed alone in the morning.
Rich in the simple pleasure of a cup of hot tea.
Rich in the frost on the trees and the pink in the sky as the sun stretches itself awake.
Rich in things that we can not measure.
Rich in things that are not things at all.
Like friendship.
Love.
Beauty.
Connection.
And peace.
Rich in a simple presence and a depth of living that we didn't even know was missing before we found it again.
