Yesterday I woke up a tad on the early side...for me...at least. The morning air was cool, cold even, and the birds were chittering away as early birds often do. I hadn't slept well or deep as my back pain wasn't ready to leave yet and so like an unwanted uninvited guest it lingered on and dragged me down. The cats were hollering at the mister for food, meowing like a pull-string toy whose string has long been stretched so their calls motored on and on as they wove around his ankles daring him to trip. I shuffled into the kitchen, neon green socks on my feet, huddled in my favorite thrifted wrap and gabbed the tea pot to brew a morning cup of happy.
As the mister meandered into the garden to attack the packed earth with an enormous pick, I settled myself down on the cold patio floor just as the sprinklers decided to make an appearance.
The birds scattered, the mister worked the earth, and I sat in the chill air on the cold ground relishing the scents and sounds around me.
After a second cup and a camera wander I snuggled under a patchwork quilt to read emails and send out my lesson plans for school. My back raged at me a little louder and so I shuffled back to the bedroom to read only to fall asleep.
When I woke up I spied a tiny yellow bud nestled into a small glass vase atop the old kitchen work table that the sister-a-go-go built many moons ago. The clear glass vase, little larger than a science beaker anchored the large leafy branch with the tiny yellow bud that was so small in size and bulk that nary a dip of the branch could be seen.
Yesterday went by in a blur of birds, back pain, kitty noses, and school carnival sounds. It was full and slow and quick all at the same time.
Today, my back pain feels like it is napping, the little birds are back, and the little yellow bud is open with its green leaves reaching up, up, up in hello yellow