The radio calls from across the dark bedroom. It’s just loud enough to break the web of sleep and is carefully set to a station too irritating to ignore. The walk around the bed, the reach for the tiny ‘off’ button is enough to lift me into a new day. Too dark to see the dawn, yet it’s surely on the way. Birds are just beginning, hesitantly, to call.
The seed of a new day is planted each night. I picture myself reaching under the pillow to grasp it, the promise of a new day. There is only one each morning and it is ours to ignore, or use, or waste and throw away. If I remembered more often, that each one is a gift, one of only a limited number, I imagine I’d be wiser with each day.
However, it’s easy to blink through the morning, sigh through the afternoon, and ease into bed at the end wondering what happened to the day. What did happen to the day?
“Pay attention”, said all my teachers, ever. “Pay attention.” I yawn as I stumble through another morning and stand, blinking, for the shower to warm enough to step into. There are only so many rainy afternoons, so many evenings with friends. And, yes, only so many dark and chilly mornings. The question isn’t how many.
The question is, what to do with this gift we are given. What to do with this one day, this one morning, this one minute, this one gift.
Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography