Four Minutes

Complete quiet. Except for the red kitchen clock ticking and the bird on my front porch singing in still darkness. The fire place is dancing new colours off my home's walls and no activity is happening in the kitchen just yet. The big grey clouds are parting out over the horizon and I imagine the islands are seeing sun today.

For me, the peace and calm, accentuated by the marking of one tick-tock per second, are a holy gift. A moment to grasp, to lay my head back and be thankful - for clean bedrooms and a full fridge, for laundry finished and stately sunflowers heralding a holiday on my kitchen table.

For a brief moment, I can hear the pages on the new book turning upstairs, buying me the quiet. There are plans for bustle. For pies to be poured and potatoes to be mashed. For smells to be relished and baking cups to be measured together. Late phone calls from family last night (email wishes this morning) and hot cake fresh from the oven as we looked up words too wonderful to ignore in Despereaux's Tale before bedtime.

But this morning is just mine.

Just five, four maybe?, minutes to say thank you.

Thank you for this. For calm. For sleeping bodies healthy and full. For beauty that surrounds me with daily reminders of grace. For promises of what's to come and friends to toast, glasses clinking, with. For stillness that wraps it's way into my heart and gives me a chance to remember.

To remember how beautiful life is and how delicious it is to savour on the couch, all alone, blanketed in calm.

{reposted from Thanksgiving 2009, this year I was counting fish and snowflakes ~ more on that soon}