Little Things, Like Snowflakes

This morning I awoke to the palest light floating in through cream curtains.  This is a distinct light, and it only ever means one thing:  snow.  I crack the blinds and I am greeted by a new world.  Everything is pristine, blanketed white.  This is the kind of morning I love best.  Tomorrow, or perhaps even later today, that snow will melt away to unveil an avalanche of mud.  But right now?  Right now the world is clean and shining.  Right now I can curl up in my bed with Pandora and my laptop, and ignore all the problems buried in the snowfall.

Later today I'll be meeting a few members of the clan for our standard coffee date at a locally owned cafe.  We do this every Saturday around 11.  We have a usual order and a usual table, and each week whichever of us are available show up to swap stories and sip on sweet, warm drinks.  We rarely leave our corner before 2.  Today it'll be Tom, Leanne and I.  We'll have enormous white mochas in thick, sturdy mugs, and whatever pastries look delicious, and we'll curl into our seats until we become part of the scenery.  I love this.  I love our group, and our town, our coffee shop.



Later I'll come home and scrub down my half of 801 Stanford Lane, like I do almost every Saturday.  It'll be fresh and sparkling for the start of a new week.  I'll drown the dog in shampoo until he smells like flowers, deal with the mountain of laundry I somehow accumulate in seven days, and disperse the pile of dishes I don't have time to wash during the work week.  When I'm done, I'll flop down with my crocheting and revel in this home I've created for myself.

It's the little things, you know?  The little things make life beautiful.  Like the soft light that woke me.  The sound of my Maltipoo's clinking collar as he stretches in his bed.  The way Tom and I rushed outside at the same moment this morning, both of us calling out to Rylie to be careful driving to work in the snow.  The way the foam will settle into the bottom of my mug when I've finished my white mocha.  The smooth, perfect way a stitch feels as it slides off my crochet hook.  The way the clan will smirk tomorrow when Bryan comes home after being with his parents for a few days, and I slip away for quick kisses that have become the worst kept secret in Kentucky.  The shiver that will creep up my arm when our fingers interlock of their own accord.  The quiet smiles we exchange when we share a thought from opposite sides of the room.

There are so many beautiful little things, so many beautiful moments tumbling into my life like snowflakes.  They leave my world fresh and shining.  Each one makes it a little harder to discern the problems buried in the snowfall.  And right now?  Right now I'm curled up in bed with Pandora and my laptop, relishing the beauty of it all.