Brittle

January 1, 2020

A new year. A new decade.

This morning, I stood in the dark at my kitchen sink munching on toast slathered with raspberry jam. The highly focused beagle who owns me waited at my feet for the last bite to drop to the floor. This is her only purpose in life, and so she takes it quite seriously. Our human children are appalled at what she gets away with around here. They tell us frequently that she is spoiled. I just shrug.

I always watch winter sunrises from this spot in the house. First, only the tree skeletons are visible. Then, through the trees, I spy a thin, deep purple, brush stroke directly above the frozen lake. This line morphs into a watercolor of every possible shade in that magical moment right before the sun winks, and then peers, over the edge of the world. The finale is the first pure beam of sunlight that shoots across the lake, through the trees, and into my kitchen. It never gets old.

2019 was a more challenging year for me than most.  There were losses. A person can only witness so many broken hearts. Then, in June. I fell and broke my left arm in two places which meant surgery and a long recovery. Incivility on social media, the evening news, and politics left me feeling brittle in other ways. I found myself pulling inward just to conserve energy. If you are a regular reader, you probably also noticed that I stopped writing. One of my resolutions is to get back to that. I’ll do my best.

What blessings and challenges will the next twenty four hours, 365 days, ten years bring to us all? What adventures will we have that will make us softer, more open, more pliable? What losses or sorrows will threaten to crack us in two?  It is a book yet to be written.

A new day, new year, new decade came through my kitchen window this morning. That’s all I know for sure.

And today, that is enough for me.

Happy New Year!