The Opening of the Day

The Opening of the Day

In the first bleary-eyed, early morning moments,
before my feet even touch the floor,
my thoughts frequently drop directly into a pit
of harsh realities, dragging my heart along with them.
But this was a different sort of morning.
I surprisingly did not have to struggle to haul myself up
into some semblance of acceptance.
Little things came blessedly to the forefront:

• the way the sun came up over the eastern hills,
  its first rays streaming down the avenue below;
• the white star-like blossoms on the vine surrounding the deck;
• the tiny red leaves springing from the thin limbs of the young
  pomegranate tree, and the green ones on the Japanese maple;
• the streaks of pink across the dawn sky;
• the spider hanging from its thread by the window;
• the flickering candle;
• the way the fountain pen, gifted by a dear friend, fits my hand.
  This morning, in the time of year the granddaughters call Baby Spring,
  these heart-opening ordinary things inspired feelings of peace.
  In other words, this morning I slipped into appreciation rather than dread,
• despite the illnesses and ailments of the aging body,
• despite the state of the world,
• despite the fears of what is to come.
  And so, I am grateful for the gratitude that replaced
  my more customary responses to the opening of the day.

– Maya Spector