Don't get me wrong: I adore a sensational sunset. All those pink tinted skies. Blushing clouds. Skies wide spectrum. Perfect prisms. They rock. I delight in it. I relish it. But I also loathe it, just a bit. Because it kind of exhausts me. End of the day. Work done. Pajamas on. Covers turned down. Gets dark, pronto! Those perfect sunsets, streaks of magic, they're relentless. Light and happy one minute, dark and slouched the next. Day is a wrap. Done. Finished. Moving on. Leaves me just a little breathless. It is everything I imagine.
But this morning, the sky went astray. Disappeared. Vanished. Ceased to exist. Sometime during the night, gone. This morning, missing. Where the sky should be, soggy cardboard. Hanging low and dull. Like a wet wooly blanket the color of shaded silver. Dusky drab granite. Wet ashes. Slate. It's a bit to bear I'm sure, yet I'm optimist. I'm certain it will return. And if days gone by are to be believed, the light, the colors, the remarkable coincidence, will be more magnificent than ever....I can hardly contain myself.
But. But, most morning's are a thing of quiet wonder, here's a time that knows how to advertise itself. Hours slow and cozy. Light from dark to hazy to brilliant. Importance takes a back seat to staying power. Quiet lasts for minutes, and minutes like these can work their own clever magic, spurring clarity to solve tough problems. I adore how bewitching everything looks in this gossamer light, how the silent bustle floats me past this glowing patch of the day. Definitely worth getting out of bed for.
I know, I know. These biscuits are scandalous, a cup and a quarter or more of cream, but they are so worth it...they are special, they are for those peaceful, lazy, p.j. breakfasts. Eaten with a knob of butter. Slathered with jam. Leftovers saved for eating with soup. They are lovely. Quiet, easy and everyday delicious.
'Kay? How 'bout tomorrow morning?"