Most Days

I love to get up in the morning. I love that quiet time in the house, when the world is still dark to my eyes and I depend on electricity to not trip and stumble down the stairs. I like it not bright in the morning. Muted light. I make my way through the house and get ready to take the dog out for a run. I turn the porch light off and step outside into the dark of morning, as though leaving the light on would make me noticeable to - well, to nobody - but it makes me feel stealth to step out into the darkness. By cat standards, it's really not that dark, and it only takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and be ready to set off on our run.

I like coming home to a quiet house, letting the cat out, the dog in, and finding my husband still warmly wrapped up in the flannel sheets and comforter in bed, snoring away (okay dear, breathing deeply...). There is such an incredible sense of comfort and calm to all of this simplicity. I relish in it within. I can feel it bubbling in me, a kind of self satisfaction with this life. It's a wonderful feeling that comes from really doing nothing but being who I am, where I am.

It's this time of morning I feel I meditate through the motions of my day. I breathe deeply through each task: running, stretching, yoga, making coffee, taking a shower. I believe in moving meditations, just being aware of and in the moment of the movements in which our bodies participate. The mind as working with and separate from this body, being it as well as seeing it. Routine, but aware.

By the time the light breaks on the day and I'm clean and caffeinated, I feel I have stepped out of my cocoon and am ready to alight. Most days are like this. And that's a good thing.