It's Easter Sunday.

I was slow to wake, my eyes creaked open to the shadowy shadows of my bedroom, which was still swaddled with closed shutters.

It's interesting that when I wake in the morning I can usually determine the weather before peeking between the slats. I think it's because shadows have color - variations of tone. Or maybe because those shadows drift with an essence of warmth or chill.

Before peeking, I'll know if my woods has received a petticoat of snow - or know that rain is sliding down the panes. It's sunshine that's such a showoff. It tries to move with stealth, but often becomes a noisy reveille. Sometimes I can hear it giggle. I swear I can. I swear I can.

This morning, though, the sunlight of my woods gave me a gentle nudge. So, I lounged a bit and watched and listened as it sneaked through the slats of my shutters.

I thought of Easters past. I could've become maudlin and melancholy or even mopey. I was lucky though. My waking thoughts stretched across the years and chose to revisit happy memories. Though they swooshed with fast-forward speed, I remembered all the good stuff and intentionally chose not to miss my children too much. Why would I spend precious time missing them when I have so many fine memories to keep me company this beautiful sun-shiny day?






Debbie and me many Easters ago




*****



A quote I discovered at a friend's blog:

"Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life has much difficulty… Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find those words."

Rainer Maria Rilke
1875 - 1926