Today I love the sound of Ice sledding off the roof here at the cottage. I love that it spontaneously breaks away and heads for the ground by the creek that runs past the living room window. I love that we have a cathedral ceiling in the main part of the cottage so we can hear the tobogganing of rafts of snowy ice sheets as they rumble down the pitch of the roof. I love that it didn’t start to snow here until the middle of the night and I got to barbecue our supper last night. I love that even though I completely destroyed the zucchini we still had enough to eat. I love that we got to barbecue before the weather turned cold again. I love that the weather is going to warm up again for at least one more day this week if everything goes according to the weather bureau. I love watching our next bit of weather coming down from the north, leaping over the cape and coming at us like a raging blanket of fog across the bay, revealing itself to be snow flurries when it gets close enough. I love that the wind flying up over the lawn from the water makes the snow look like it is falling upwards sometimes. I love that the flag that hangs from an angled pole on the north side of the cottage is standing straight up in that brisk north wind. I love that this is the best place to be recover in when I’m feeling ill.
Today I love that it is Sunday and just thinking of that makes the day’s flavor special. I love how many Sundays in my life were days of ease and charm and warmth, days of restful leisure yet almost always days with plans and socializing. I love how often Sunday plans require no winning to be positive, things like dinner with the family or favorite TV shows crowd my memories. I love the way that Sundays lead me down a path of happy reminiscence of my blissful, joyful life. I love that even as I pull myself away from gathering the wool of all these years of spinning, I immediately begin to contemplate what I might do next to add to this happiness. I love blithe Sunday contemplation.
Today I love the smells of breakfast cooking and managing to get all the components of breakfast ready all at once. I love that an egg broke in my hand and I still managed to get it into the pan without any shell, and wonder of wonders I didn’t break the yoke, though the shell smashed so completely that as I was carefully shifting my hand to the pan it looked like I had an egg in my hand with the shell hanging out of my fingers underneath. I love that I then spent a few moments contemplating the idea that I might be a magician unaware.
Today I love drinking coffee while the snow falls upward and my flag hangs straight up and my eggs hold together in mid air and my ice holds sledding parties on my roof and the world continues to remind me that I am not magic, but life is.