Morning On The Homestead
Early morning, the floors are cold, actually the house is cold. The fire died early in the night. Wool socks worn over fleece lined tights, warm skirt made of navy flannel with a tiny calico print. Thermal shirt, and wool sweater. Hot cereal cooking on the stove in the kitchen while I build a fire in the wood stove. Emery out doing chores and bringing in more wood for the day. The sweet sound of Patrick Ball playing the Celtic harp on the stereo. The days beginning, as pleasant as last nights ending. Its candle making day here, so soon the bees wax will be melting on the stove, ready to be transformed into hand dipped tapers that will chase away the darkness and fill the nights and mornings with a warm golden glow. There is no rush, no time table, just tasks that need to be done when the need arises. I suspect we will warp the loom again today and we will sit beside one another spinning and weaving, chatting, laughing and comfortable in the moments of silence that come when concentration is needed from time to time. We will gaze out the window and watch the birds at the feeders and toss another log in the fire from time to time. An easy sort of day, perhaps as if we stepped back in time. Its the way we like it. This simple life of ours, feeds our soul, breeds a sort of peacefulness that is so often lacking in the modern rush rush world. Its going to be a good day, a simple day.