sunset soon forgotten

i got to bed late last night. it wasn't for lack of trying. goodness knows, i tried.

tried to slip under the covers before eleven. to feel the cool of just-washed linens slip over my nightgown. to replace the glow of laptop and lamp light with the deep, infinite darkness of bed. to take down my ponytail  and let my hair fall carelessly over my pillowcase.

but life got in the way. errands. little menial tasks that meant nothing but added up to hours. dishes. playing with pablo. reality television. etsy.

with my sleepy eyes finally closing, and sleep threatening to wash over me and pull me over the brink any minute, i listened for a second. and felt.

i heard robert breathing heavily behind me. this deep, hearty breath. i'm used to it and barely notice it. but last night i made an effort to take it in. to turn and watch his chest rise and sink with the steady rhythm of a midnight pendulum. i heard pablo too. a raspy little puff of air every few seconds. as i looked up at the bedroom ceiling, i let their collective breath pull me to sleep. the sync of it, paired with the sweet melody it created, was intoxicating.

and right before i fell, i thanked the Lord for such a sweet sound. how many times i take for granted the living beings that share my bed. their breath gentle in my ear. the creatures that i have been blessed to love and listen to.

and i do this so often. take things for granted. become so, so used to something that it loses its grandeur.

--like the feel of cool hardwood on my bare toes in the early hours of the morning, when the world is asleep but i'm reaching toward the coffee pot.

--the house i pass on my drive to work every morning, always stuck behind the school bus. the little boy who lives in that clapboard shack. running with unbelievable fervor toward the bus, blowing kisses to his mama, waving from the driveway in her robe and slippers.

--the little basil plant on my windowsill, still reaching its meager leaves toward the sunshine. hanging on even after being stripped of most of its green.

--the sound of robert coming home after work. his muddy boots. yes, even the mud. a sign that he loves me and will do whatever it takes to make a home for me.

--the delicious heat of an evening shower. taken with the bathroom lights off, the adjacent office light bathing the room in a soft glow.

i will take all these things in, and be thankful. because they are all gifts that could be taken in an instant. little, tangible proof that God loves me, i am worthy,

and life is unforgettably beautiful.

california road trip 2010