Exponent of breath, and other things.

The house is quiet and I am the only one here. Marley the Boston snores atop the couch he is not usually allowed to sleep, but I let him anyway (grace abounds). Outside, the crickets maintain their steady melody 'neath the moonlight as I munch my Starbucks pumpkin muffin. These moments to self replenish the peace and contentment I so often beseech my Maker.

Many mothers (and, lots of people, for that matter) covet alone time. In the frequent, frazzled search for something, anything, to let up, we relish even the smallest fifteen minute repose. I am overjoyed at a break. But happy that my life is full of messes and exhaustion, disorganization and early mornings.

As much as I complain, really,

I wouldn't have it any other way.

And while I should snatch the opportunity to soak in the bath while enjoying a glass of wine, I'm tempted to reach for Wilder's baby album and be absorbed in beauty. To reminisce and be elated for what I have, and for what is to be.

I am thankful for solitude--its quietness. Its thought-provoking tendencies. Thankful that it is not a mainstay in my journey, nor a doorway to loneliness.

My life is sweet and full, like a gingham-lined basket of cozily nestled pumpkin muffins.

Which I will gladly share.

LOVE is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath. Emily Dickens