Morning at the Boston condo first peeks in through the front windows. The dappled light filters through the trees, then travels across the kitchen table, over the floors and counters, slowly elongating then pulling back. Join me here. Sit at the table. You brew the coffee, I’ll stir in the cream, and you tell me: one lump or two? I’ll have my tea with honey, and we can watch our two cups steaming in the shafts of sunlight. We can be quiet here, begin the day softly, gently. Ease into it. There is no rush or hurry.
A bowl, empty for now, sits on the table, patiently waiting for citrus or nuts. It is waiting to be filled, to be purposeful, to pursue its destiny. Here, in the light of morning, watching the world awaken, we sip from our cups. We don’t yet realize the fortune of the moment.
