Morning sun shone into room through frame of window’s view, low angled light in reach and cast, fanning from frame, into heart and depth of home; catch of the island, blade-hew and grain of the wooden floor, rest-edge of laurel stove. She smiled on its cast and fall, hands in her hair as she rise-moving and wake from sleep, fall of its length, filtered as light—shadowed in cloud roots and brightening, fair-golden at its ends.
She looked on world outside and beyond, yellow light on the lawn and open of fields and land beyond. Near to home, in roost of the trees, she heard songs of birds in wake.
Coffee brewed, and she breathed the scent; waking in effect before ever taking draw in drink.
For years she prayed for this season and life, and she embraced all as it arrived—living for moment and last of the time before birth of new chapter and further change.
Day lilies shown full-bloomed in garden as she lived the same in womb, swelled as the fruit that set to vine in fulfill of Creation’s purpose.
She felt the warmth and bathe of light, reach-touching into the room, hands’ fall from hair to hold of the gift and miracle for which she’d prayed.