The yellows in my living room drink up every once of sunlight that slips in though the windows.

That’s why they are there, after all. The yellows and the purples and bright blues and, well, more yellow. On sunny days they remind me of childhood play and long summer hours and whispering secrets to friends during recess, my hair tugged high in a ponytail, my knees skinned from hours outside.

On cold, dark and overcast days, they remind me that they’ve once absorbed the sun’s giggling rays and here: if I press my cheek to the fabric of a large, soft pillow by the corner, I can feel where she once rested for me. 

The snow has piled up in magnificent mounds.

This is great news because the sun’s light will reflect off of the whiteness all day and bounce her way onto doorsteps and faces and into homes and windowpanes. It’s winter’s way of saying, please be assured: you are loved.

The winter has a way of feeling so dark and cold, most of the time. Days like today, I can’t help but revel in her ability to wrap us up warmly and snugly.

Today warrants a walk in her treasures. The softness of her depths doesn’t call my name, but simply smiles at me, welcoming, so I may choose to kick her about with playfulness in my boots that come up to mid calf. I have no one but her to whisper secrets to, today. 

The crystals on my window rest with a magnificence I aspire to be, a design that Nature alone can create and leave behind without attachment. Can I, too, create such beauty and let it be for someone else to softly touch through the glass?

After a week of restlessness and spinning out my tires internally, I find a resting place in my home.

The sun, her rays, the yellows of my living room, the crystals on the window — the snowfall has gifted me with love. She says nothing at all and yet, I feel her soft reminder that I am home, I am loved, and I, too, can receive all the gifts of Nature for simply being exactly where I am today.

3 Replies to “Softness in my Living Room”

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