Mornin'

Out the door, running late. Already pinched, pounding, slightly disheveled. Forty-seven trips up and down the stairs. As I pull out, the dash clock glows 6:45--yes, in the morning--and I'm stressed up with some place to go. Only fifteen minutes past normal, but I'm praying for no traffic tragedies when an orange glow flickering through bare branches catches even my distracted eyes.

"Oh." I actually say aloud. "That's pretty." And when I reach the park entrance down the street, I pull in. I have neither time to stop nor time not to, and as I pull up to the pond, it feels right. I think of my friend, newly attending Quaker meeting: "Okay, ducks," I think, "here's my silent worship." And I lower the window and exhale my frantic morning into the cold.

I only pause a moment, look at the sunrise, breathe, snap that photo, but instantly I feel better. The sky is huge, and so is the universe; in the end, it doesn't matter if my child goes to school naked, as for a while there it seemed she might. Life is good. I'm happy to be here. Even if I arrive a little late.