poetry and prose

What could you do more of?

Write! I could certainly write more. Does anyone else fantasize about being a writer?

I wake up to the cool, winter air… cold in the house, so I put on some long socks and a warm hoodie.

The sound of my traditional drip coffee machine. Nobody is awake, but me—not even the dogs are ready to start their day.

The coffee pot makes that bubbling sound and I pour a cup into my white porcelain mug, a splash of zero sugar peppermint mocha.

I turn on my reading lamp and light the gas fireplace in our living room.

Sleepy eyes, but a mind wind awake.

I write about Alice’s first day to the spa.

My mind is clear, not jumbled by the worries of being on time to the morning meetings or sessions of the day.

No pressure to strategize every last minute of the day.

Just me and my books.

As the kids start to wake, I put my pen down.

I will come back to you later.