It is morning and the sun is proclaiming it brightly. I love weekend mornings for they are born without haste. I do not consult the clock on days like Saturday. I like these moments when time does not try to “escape” from me and I live as I please, for a while. For now, I am content to drink coffee at the morning table while Cash and Christopher Robin doze. I listen to a bird sing, and though I listen intently, I cannot identify the species . . and I plan Sunday dinner. I think about Christmas. . .and I wonder about a lot of things-and before I know it, I realize I ought to turn the lamp off.
I never did rush one iota. Breakfast time passed, so we had a brunch, instead. I went about my tasks as”if I had all day”, because for “once in a blue moon”, had come,- and I did. Clothes washed while I swept floors. I like housekeeping and derive great satisfaction from clean floors and fresh linens. It is a lot more pleasant to do chores without the desperation that so often accompanies them.
The farmhouse seems so much bigger now than it did when I bought it. I scrubbed the bedroom that was my grandmothers. Mostly,the room is vacant except for the holidays. I tried to work quickly as I am so prone to becoming overly sentimental. The room is now a cheerful shade of periwinkle, with an adorable white sleigh bed. I battled cobwebs and dust while Christopher Robin slept peacefully, in the den. At random intervals, I had coffee laced with cinnamon and table cream. Through the windows I saw a leaf flutter by occasionally. Not one was in any sort of hurry, so we had that in common. On top of everything else, I noticed the windows needed washing.
By later in the afternoon, I was washing the blankets and bedding for the animals. Christian took a few pictures for the realtor, as each room was tidied. Supper would be light tonight, but I would make up for that with Sunday dinner.
As daylight faded, I was pleased with what had been accomplished. Tonight, I plan to make sense of the Christmas Closet, and record an account of what has been bought thus far. I think waiting for Christmas and Thanksgiving, is half the fun.
At long last, I turned the lamp on as evening had turned to night. In the absence of moonlight, the countryside is “pitch dark”. If it were a tad cooler, I would be tempted to start a small fire in the little fireplace, in the den. Instead, I will wait til the weather warrants a cheerful fire.
It has been a good day, I think. I have not solved a mystery, nor made any grand discovery . It was just an ordinary day, full of ordinary events. .. but it is nothing less than beautiful to be able to write, that “all is well at the rabbit patch.”
Dear Diary, I am glad for unfamiliar bird songs sung at first light. I am glad for the beauty of ordinary days and the soft way they fade, until at last they become dark, autumn nights . . .and a little light burning, makes all the difference.