Waking Up

I woke up in the best and worst way today. The chill of Fall has just begun to settle in, only at night, really, for the days are still sun-drenched and warm. It's the kind of chill that, just now, requires an extra quilt on the bed at night. It's time for three layers of warm. It feels good to slip into cool sheets at night and wait, like an oven, for it to slowly warm up.

Sleep has never been a problem for me, until lately. Once I get there, I'm there and hope to stay for hours. And when he gets up in the morning, I sometimes let my feet migrate to the warm spot where he was, and hope deeply to fall back in for more. This morning was one of those mornings.

Often my alarm clock, I'm awakened by his gentle hand placed on my hip. A slowly given kiss usually follows. This morning as I left sleep, I was deep in a dream. I dreamed it was Thanksgiving and it was my parents house, but the house in my dream is one I've never seen before or lived in. My Dad is in his slippers and the house is warm. It looks like a scene from the 70's because there are wood-paneled walls and the dishwasher I remember seeing is mustard yellow. He likes the gift I'd given him and I felt proud as he hugged me.

Outside, there was leftover snow only in shadows when, in pajamas, we walked out to look at the day together, expecting the sun. I sort of gave a stretch as he snatched up the paper from the end of the driveway. I felt held there even though we were standing.

And, that was it. Hand on hip, I was now awake, and sad. Coming to, I shut my eyes tighter as I hugged my worn feather pillow closer. I didn't want to leave that feeling of being held. I wanted to go back there and stay for a while and put off the feeling of another new day.