Not just any Sunday morning, but an easy Sunday morning in the fall, like that Lionel Richie song, except that this day’s soundtrack is full of sappy Ray LaMontagne. Yes.
No alarm is set, but it doesn’t matter, because when the sun comes up, my eyes open up. I lay there, grab my fluffy, white comforter, and pull it back over my head. Just for a few minutes. Maybe a few minutes more.
When the time is right and I become bored of my oh-so-comfortable pillows, I roll out of bed and into a cozy sweater and blue jeans, the pair that I wear a bit too much. They greet me like an old friend, still warm from the last time I wore them, which it seems, was probably the day before. I splash my face with warm water, run a brush through my messy mane, and throw it back in a loose braid. I’m not one to do much with my hair.
Before anything else, I want coffee.
Actually, I want a latte, so I tug on a jacket over my sweater and step out into the crisp fall air. It’s that time of year when the air is so cool and crisp it quenches my thirst. A cool breeze hits my bare face, quickening my pace to the nearest coffee shop which, fortunately, isn’t too far away. Inhabiting the heart of downtown has its perks.
As soon as I am back in the comfort of my bright and sunny apartment, it’s time for breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day, of the week, and pretty much of all time. I have two options on the weekends: make the meal or buy it. Today I think I’ll make it. I’ve been really into cooking lately anyway. I crack two eggs onto a pan, and one oozes a bit while the other one is picture perfect. Typical. I crack another one into a bowl. While my imperfect eggs sizzle sunny-side up, I sprinkle cinnamon and teeny, tiny bit of milk into the bowl for some french toast!
Breakfast is best accompanied by a book or mellow conversation.
Since I have nothing planned, I can sit down and eat slowly while I am enlightened by a conversation with my love. He decided to sleep in today. We talk about big things and small things, humorous things and serious things. We talk about each other as a team and ourselves as individual beings. The conversation lasts as long or short as we want it to, and silent moments are welcomed when they arrive.
That is my favorite part about sharing these mornings with him - our silence is just as full of thought and love as our words.
The rest of the day floats along, not in a lazy way, but in a spontaneously calm way. Activities come and go, conversations drift and deepen, and my energy is maintained until it’s time again to melt into that marshmallow bed, this time tangled up with this man I love.
A slow morning gently commands a slow day, a time and existence that I consider my paradise. Forcing myself to act slowly, to think slowly and intentionally, (to stop and smell the roses if you will) seems to suspend time and allows me to live more fully. I ask you, what could be more wonderful than a full, happy, purposeful, loving life?