good morning...

biting cold bright morning and me, bundled up, safe, warm, coffee in one hand, pen in the other, and scribble scribble scribble. my mornings. my wonderful wake up. i missed this while i was gone. a person's routine takes a back seat when in someone else's home... when there's a more pressing issue. but i'm glad to come back to it. thankful. endlessly. and my mama so proud of the life i'm building. all my sweet ways of being in my day. i woke up at my early hour and made coffee. i sat out on the front stoop, freezing, and wrote in my notebook until my hands were so cold they hurt. i came inside, turned on the heater, and kept writing. 12 pages this morning all in one burst. the gates opened and the ink slid out. there is a rhythm and a soft yearning in me. there is a quiet call working in my finger tips. there is a slow race in the corners, all the hidden places of a person, of me. there are cold beads of dew on the windows. my breath is white in the air. my dog curls up, hides from this chill, and me too- bundled up in fleece footie pajamas, thermal underneath, a beanie, and heavy, crocheted socks. winter arrived whilst we were away. and the yearning goes on. forward. undaunted. feeling its' way. waking up. a rhythm. a haunt. gratitude and mist and the white sun up in the sky.