Sunday, October 14, 2007


The mornings are dark now. White, sharp fingerlings of clouds etch the horizon, a perfect visual companion to the patches of frost that coat the lawn. The gourds that grace our front porch are sitting lower and lower, hunkering down from the cold, evidence that it is high time to toss them.
It is quite early when I pad down the stairs in my pajamas. I glide into the kitchen on cat's feet, mindful that there is a sleepy girl (Friend #7) in the guest room. From the cabinets, I gingerly slip out a soup pot and lid and a cutting board. From the fridge slides a whole chicken, two ribs of celery, one gigantic carrot, and one half of sweet onion. Despite my careful attention, the morning quiet is shattered by shifting cookware, crackling cellophane, and the magnified noise of chopping a carrot. I breathe carefully, too. No sense stirring up that tickley cough that kept my hubby awake last night.
Soon the steam of simmered chicken and vegetables fill the room, marking the edges of the windowpanes with soft swabs of moisture. I adjust the dimmer light over the kitchen table in order to read my Bible. The filtered light of an autumn morning surreptitiously fills the house.
Today is Sunday, Day of Rest. Morning of Word and Song and Togetherness. Afternoon of Chicken Soup and Hanging Out with some friends. Evening of Re-charging and Relaxation.
May you be blessed today!


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