While we sat on the couch, sipping our morning coffee, I looked over toward the foyer. Sunlight was angling in low and through our glassed front door, placing a pattern of panes across the hardwood floor. Daksha noticed. Though not a stranger to the front door, he approached the reflection on the floor slowly, tracking the inanimate light, then carefully tested the brightness with a paw. Twice. I’m not sure just what he was expecting, but the test proved positive enough for him to step on in for a morning’s basking.
A talented pastor could find a sermon there. I just see the joy of a warm cat.
I slept in this morning. (But not really. I was awake and in the kitchen before 8:00am.)
I’m playing hooky today. (Technically, no. They know where I am. And I made sure that I wasn’t going to miss any meetings or deadlines.)
I’m another year older. (Though it didn’t happen just now. Yesterday, I was 365 days older than a year ago today. Leap years do that.)
I am 33 years old. Today. I believe this is traditionally where I unleash an essay on the progression of time. But instead, I feel drawn to that sunshining world outside my window. The weatherman says it will be a good thirty degrees warmer today than dreary yesterday. If there is a lesson to be offered, it’s in this light that is spreading across the limbs and leaves, the grass and eaves, and the steps of our neighbor’s back porch.
