Morning silence is one of my favorite times of the day. Footsteps creaking in the dinning room as I prepare the morning meal. Sunshine soon streams in the windows, a golden glow, full of beauty, it is no wonder we as humans, value gold, it is so much like this color of a new day. Each new day, a precious gift of unfathomable value. There is a bit of a chill in the air in the wee hours, I am thankful for warm woolen socks, and smile as I look down at them, reindeer and stars carefully knit into the pattern. My morning is filled with handmade....a warm wool sweater, the socks, the wooden spoon I stir breakfast with, made by a young boy, carefully chosen wood. Dishes washed with home made soap, and coffee sipped from a mug made by a young friend. The kitchen, wooden walls, carefully fit in place, so perfectly that they would stay without a nail, A smile just thinking about my husbands skill with wood. This old house, of about a hundred years, has seen many Christmas seasons. I suspect the early years were humble Christmases, the kind written about in the Little House books. One year this house caught on fire I am told, from the lights on a Christmas tree. The charred beam can be seen in the attic. I think back to the 20 Christmas mornings we have seen here and what fun we have had. This house has a story and in the morning hours, it feels these stories can be felt as the sun warms the wood and it creaks with expansion. Taking time to really live in the moment is a profound experience. It gives us life lessons, it awakens in us something lost in the rush of things. I love this perfectly simple time of the day.