‘Tis Autumn, and the morning sun knew, on this particular dawn, not to actually “break.” It would have been too much.
The light is more reserved and golden now. Not as spritely-bright as a few weeks back. Sort of low and leaning.
This morning, it entered quietly, very quietly. Just sort of eased its way into the room.
Hush, a gentle hand on the forehead.
The bird chatter, even, the few in the offing who dare to breach the quietness of the morning whisper, is reverent and careful this morning. The air is still and the leaves that do move flutter in total silence.
Since I don’t plant them anymore and they just show up unannounced throughout the garden, the faithful marigold rarely gets mentioned, but are glorious nonetheless, brughtly greeting me, quite self-sufficient where others need so much attention.
In a hospital, just after a violent attack against a person’s body has produced a flurry of loud surgical intervention by medicine’s best, the wounded one is wheeled to a safe inner sanctum and loved ones, clutching prayer beads and folded over, rock back and forth to the rhythm of the faintest clock ticking. The waiting begins and supercedes all else. The waiting is the thing.
That is how this morning has arrived. Quietly. Reverently. Carefully.
Spaghetti Squash. It’s what’s for dinner.