I was up before the sun, got Tim's lunch packed and sent him off to work.
Once he was gone, I sat in the office sipping coffee and watching the sky turn a brilliant red. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. How many years has it been since I first heard that? I remember my mom explaining it to me, and I believed it to be unerringly true.
That led to thinking about moms. About having a mom. About being a mom. I think of my own mother's flaws. She made plenty of mistakes. I think of my own flaws. I have made plenty of mistakes too.
Slowly the brilliant red of the morning fades as the sun comes up. A new day dawns, bright and beautiful. The cold snap is going to break today, so we will let the fire will burn out. Tomorrow, I will clean out the ashes, after the majority of the coals have died. Everything will be set for the next cold snap due this weekend. We've got another round winter storms forecast.
The hibiscus on the table in the office has put out another bloom. Such a cheerful sight, that big salmon colored bloom. I know that it will not last, and that I need to make the most of it, but I love how the plant has been putting out one bloom at a time every week or two for a couple months now.
I get up and methodically start the chores of the day. Each day, I try to accomplish a few deep cleaning chores that got shoved to the back burner while I worked. Today's were scrubbing the walls in the bathroom and stairwell. (tick!) I've got an appointment at the bank to get things arranged for my trip. I need to wash the salt off my car on the way back home now that it has warmed up. My sister is on call and spending the night here. I'm making quiches for supper and the ingredients are assembled.
And so my day goes. I work through my chores, room by room, one at a time, in a daydreaming sort of way.
There used to be a childish me who believed in the unerring truth of old weather proverbs, but now, years after the fact, I have learned that there is no such thing as unerring truth. I have learned that everything changes, and then changes again, an endless cycle, a rhythm. I find myself thinking about days gone by, people gone on, about mistakes made, mistakes corrected (or not). About momentary beauty. About breaks in the weather, about new storms on the horizon, About red skies in morning.
Today, for some reason, it seems to be more beautifully connected than usual.