the rock candy's melted, only diamonds now remain

 

 

let it be known that i love sleeping in. this is a new-found phenomena, one gently and slowly revealed to me through marriage to a man who relishes his rest. who, with one arm draped over his head, will sink into the mattress and soak up all the deliciousness that cool sheets and a warm quilt can offer. and for a girl used to going to bed with the sun still draping himself over the countryside, and rising before he pokes his head up over the hills, i have truly learned the beauty and importance of a deep, sound sleep.

but sometimes, oh sometimes. there's just nothing quite like a morning in the country. with shed lights peeping on with the wind and oak branches spinning outside. with frost on the ground and over the lampposts.

this morning, i woke at five and made country ham. i sat in an old farm kitchen and warmed my hands on a coffee mug as the meat simmered and spat in the skillet. and i drug mr. sleepyhead himself into the bright yellow chairs. the morning still black, we talked and ate. and slowly, ever so slowly, we awoke. to the day. to ourselves, to each other. and i declare, it was almost better than a late morning snuggled next to the window. almost.