A Forced Break
I had plans today to clean the house. I didn't really feel like cleaning the house, but it needed a good dusting and vacuuming (and who really feels like cleaning house anyway?), and seeing that we woke to eleven degree temperatures this morning, today was as good a day as any to clean. So, I got the bathrooms scrubbed, the house dusted, Joe's lunch made and fed him breakfast . . . then he comes out after brushing his teeth and asks to stay home, sounding as though he had an entire bag of cotton balls up his nose and his usual rosy face looking more like a pale shade of pink. He's now back in bed, dosed up with Allegra, Tylenol and Sudafed, sound asleep.
And all of a sudden the house cleaning came to a screeching halt.
I'm sitting here on our couch, the dryer tumbling quietly away, Langley asleep on her bed, the birds fussing at each other on the feeders outside in our backyard, the sun streaming in through the back door, giving a false sense of warmth but making the heavy frost on the grass sparkle like diamonds. I spent 45 minutes stretched out in our yard this morning, blowing soap bubbles, watching them pop! but a few freezing long enough for me to take photographs of the beautiful and intricate designs and patterns that are created when the bubbles meet the freezing air. It's so amazing what I can see through my camera, the details, the patterns, the way the light makes the background shimmer and dance like little fairies. It makes me wonder at all the hidden beauty that goes unnoticed every day. I have this urge to declare to the world, "Yes! I see you! I see the way the sunbeams make my living room glow with light and cast shadows in my kitchen. I see the glistening of the frost along the tops of the mailboxes lining our street as I stretch before my morning runs and the steam coming up from along our back yard fence when I get back home. It makes me happy to open our blinds every morning and see our neighbor's Christmas lights hanging from their roof, painting their house all kinds of cheerful colors. I hear you, sweet little Carolina wren, welcoming the day every day and making me lighthearted. Yes! I see and hear and feel all of you!"
Joe is still sound asleep, the dyer has stopped and Langley is now outside, enjoying this cold, cold, yet beautiful, day. She revels in this kind of weather. I plan on curling up with my novel in the Big Green Chair that resides in my office and reading the rest of the afternoon, occasionally glancing out my window to watch the finches and sparrows squabble over the feeder and enjoy this "forced" break. The house can wait another day.