Sunday Morning

 

I sleep in a bit on Sunday morning, and rise slowly, enjoying the extra minutes of rest.  In these winter months, I have no birdsong or rays of sun filtering through the blinds to wake me.  I turn on the coffee, open the curtains, and look out at the dreary landscape on this January morning.  How I love this quiet time, though, with my mug of coffee, my journal, my books and my newspaper at my side. 

The first two weeks of January have been difficult -- the sorrow of a much-loved uncle who is seriously ill, a rib injury that has sidelined me a bit, illnesses of other friends and family. The national news speaks of more strife and anger over decisions that have to be made on the economy, social programs, gun control, and protecting the public from the mentally ill and the criminally angry among us.

And now, as I write, my Sunday is almost over -- a day of household chores, grocery shopping, and an afternoon of soup simmering on the stove.  A simple supper of soup and bread -- and a quiet evening ahead to prepare myself for the  coming week, whatever it may bring.  I am thankful for the peaceful moments in these difficult days --