I AM

The morning wake was not thrilling. I am yet to be really going. I should get some warm tea going. Throw a bit of wood in the woodstove. See what breakfast I can sum up. Listen to the news of not so much who got shot in Kansas City but how many. I find the best to start my day is a humble prayer of thanks for the many things I do have and the burdens I DON'T have. Peace is such a wonderful place to be. A scripture for meditation through out the day. Now if I can figure out what day it is.

Once again in a slow March, seems very slow, even too slow and chilly and wet. In my childhood I guess this didn't count so much for some reason. Now as the air is supposed to warm, it still carries a bite to the bone. Spring not here, winter not gone. Ah, but I will miss these days even soon, when the summer is hot looking at a July Moon. Seasons yet, as I grow older, summers hot, and winters colder. I must start my day.

Home is where the heart is. Home is where the Hearth is. For me, I want to imagine a warm little cabin in the midst of a small clearing in a big woods. Inside are rocking chairs, goosedown feather beds/comforters, fresh milk still warm from the cow, and bright red skivvies with the hatch in the back. Reading outloud to my granddaughter, now 1, about the old tales of long ago. Where has story telling gone? Sitting by the homefire, telling stories. When grandpa stole the bobcat cub and wrapped it in his coat. The mother bobcat caught the scent and chased him on his cob pony all the way home. The bulldog set up a ruckus when he heard them coming and as the old mother cat let out a squall, the pony leaped up on the back porch and jumped into the kitchen and the bulldog went under the porch. His mother heard it all and cought the pony before it took the cook stove out. Grandpa was a great rider, but with the cub in his coat, he fell of as they went through the door and he slammed the d...