winter is finally easing out of its heavy boots. it's no longer dark now when i leave the office. when i make the drive home on my favorite backroads. past that little country store and hamburger joint. the little vinyl siding house with the white dog out front, the one who's always sniffing the begonias. that farmhouse tucked behind the woods, with the old white shutters and the ford truck for sale in the field.
when i make it back here, back to this place, there's a pocket of time, about 10 minutes, when it's just me. before robert and pablo bound through the door and the evening begins.
i prop myself up on this old kitchen counter. and watch the sun sink back into the ground. watch the sliver of light dance on the ceiling, then the cabinets, across my shins, then finally onto the metal sink, where it disappears down the drain.
this is my favorite room. my cocoon of sunshine. where i can stretch, still asleep, over coffee and look out onto the road as children on four-wheelers ride by at dusk. where my parents snuck in after our trip to new england. watering our plants and leaving love notes on our chalkboard.
there are old, framed hymns in the den. an engagement portrait in our bedroom. my favorite books stacked up against the toilet tank in the bathroom. little pieces of me, scattered between the bones of these walls. but my spirit is mostly poured into this kitchen. this place of meeting and feasting. of praying. holding hands and making messes. of calendars and photo magnets. cookie jars and coffee mugs.
of five-thirty reflections. of breath between afternoon and night. all from a countertop vantage point, the best view in the house.