Cries from the crib change to coos in my arms and a big flannel smile. The fire flickers into a blaze and the coffee blooms in the French press, and I can feel some warmth seeping in. It’s not the warmth of the bed, no; it is the warmth of a day begun, a day chosen. A day I may have to offer again so I can live this gift and not let it slip away, not stomp all over it because it is not going my way.
A little boy bounces with joy, wide eyed for the wide open day, and I smile too, whisper a thank you for the day – yes, even the morning.