On a rainy day like today I feel called from my desk to sit in my rocking chair, the same rocking chair my mother rocked me in in when I was an infant, and sit looking out into the gray fuzzy morning. I’d cradle my warm cup of tea, tea that a friend gave me, and each sip would keep me company. And one dog lies on a silk pillow my mother made with fabric an old friend gave me, and the other dog is draped over the back of the sofa having given up on chasing squirrels today. Not a bird trills, not a creature scurries and the deer I saw last night have hunkered down in the tall dry grass. We are all waiting for the sun to return, we are all waiting for a day not like today and yet, this is the day we have. There is a quiet blessing to being home to witness the silence of rain on the sky light, the slippered steps on the hardwood floor and the breathing breaths when you’ve rocked yourself to sleep in the rocking chair.
