Sweet evening sunset in the summer's sensuous sky, I am humbled by your offer of soft serenity. My body, wearied from summer's playground and the intense joy of the three-year-old who holds my heart combined with fresh air, beckons me to comfort it with smooth cotton sheets. My head begs to be resting on a pillow of feathery solace. Who am I to differ?
Work is done. The sun is setting.
Tomorrow, a new day dawns, with not so much excitement as a park on a day of sunny bliss, but excitement enough.
For you see, somehow, somewhere, I've fallen in love. With my three-year-old blessing, who offers sweet kisses, baby blue-eyed blinks, and tender cuddles. With my fabulous husband, who chips in to shovel mulch or help clean up paint chips when my painting job to help him out went awry, and coddles me with cuddles and soft kisses when I need them. But most of all, lately, I've rediscovered and fallen head over heals with life itself.
Dancing to the rhythms, wearing glasses with rosey hues, I sing to the stars and walk, barefoot, upon dewy grass. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming... have become tender Buddhist meditations as I honor my home with cleanliness, fondly remember each spot I tenderly touch and wipe.
Is this bliss? Is this enlightenment? Who the hell cares? It matters not, cause it feels damn fine.
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