Letting go and just allowing the tiny things fill up your senses. A photograph that surprises you with its clarity and record of what you really, saw even when you look at it moments, months or years later. Listening to the dog snore at your feet, instead of being distracted by the odor or another being. Hearing the giggles of someone in another room finding joy at something so small.
I guess I can forgive the irritants of the day. I can unkink my body from its rigid posture; stretch tired muscles and reconcile the stiffness that being cold brings to me. Once my tendons unknot I can relish in the warmth of the fire’s glow. From that point, cooking dinner and searing my skin over the open flame replaces the tension of huddling in on myself.
Dinner with Julia. Asking about the characters that inhabit her world. Sharing the idiosyncrasies of my day. This defines coming home. A duck breast marinated all day in tarragon balsamic sizzles on the fire. The fried eggplant drizzled with homegrown honey wasn’t as crisp as usual but is passable.
The heating system rumbles, the fire pops. A good book and a some gentle music. Pure joy exudes from every corner…