I wake slowly into this Sunday morning and lay still, thinking of earlier years on April the second.
This is the day my former in-laws married nearly a century ago. I think of all the ways their union interfaced with my life when I met and married their son four decades ago.
The sweet cat snuggled at my hip shifts position and I’m reminded that this is the day I have designated as his birthday, when, in 2009, I discovered him abandoned in my backyard, his eyes not yet open.
I think of my son, Keith, who left this world on this day in 1973. Time has softened that loss over the decades and it pleases me that I can smile today and see his happy, impish face on a summer afternoon beneath sunshine in the park. I fill with deep gratitude for the time we shared together.
I think of yesterday, outside with my camera, delighting in the beauty of the multitude of bright purple violets sprinkled all over these acres. One flower alone possesses such beauty that it is all I need for deep thankfulness to wash through my limbs, yet I’ve been given a multitude.
I rise, filled with some of the rich history of this day. The cat nuzzles me lovingly as I put food in his dish and the dog rises from the couch, stretches, and yawns with a little squeak. I wish these sweet souls a good morning and click on the dog’s leash. We slide the door open and step out into a bright sunny day, where a singular bird fills my psyche with her rich beautiful song as does the magenta glow of the red bud tree unfolding into a new season yet again. I greet this morning filled with the rich history of other days from my April the second book, and wonder what this April the second will bring. My heart is open.