I stood on my front porch this morning, watching the cat eat his Alley Cat dry food, feeling the chill of the autumn morning. I closed my eyes and brought my focus to the flutter in my heart, the smoothness of the small rug beneath my bare feet, the fragrance floating around me, of mown grass and full trees.
I lifted my arms and stretched, drawing in a long pull of morning air. An ache across my shoulders twinged so I reached again, higher, longer, and brought my arms straight down to come as near to my toes as I can. Then I released the taut muscles and shook the lingering stiffness from my body.
It’s week 36 of my year without complaining. It’s been a roller-coaster gestation. No premature birth for me; I’m still curled in the womb, waiting to develop enough to come into the world.
I left the porch and went in search of coffee, leaving the cat to his own devices, on the pleasant porch, in Brookside, Kansas City, as the sun rose in the east and the rest of the world began to waken.