I woke slowly.
The room was cold, and filled with the kind of soft morning light that comes along with a soaking rain. I shifted under my alpine-fill down comforter, pulling the coverlet higher under my chin. Stretching, I reached for my phone, which, through the miracles of modern technology- the likes of which I still can't understand- would tell me the current time, temperature and radar conditions.
I'm just a bit of a weather nerd.
A rainy Monday.
Throughout most of the year, I am jangled awake at 4:30 am. Sometimes its raining. Oftentimes, its snowing. Every once in a while, the air is clear, with the promise of a bright, sunlit day. Regardless, its always dark. Pitch dark. The kind of darkness that only precedes the light. Although most mornings I grumble my way through the first 5 miles of the commute, questioning the wisdom of my career choice, I usually arrive at work ready to face the day, and eager to see the family of co-workers who share my day.
Contrary to the iconic Carpenter's tune, Rainy Days and Mondays don't get me down. The gentle, soaking rain is vital for our many gardens- gardens that feed our family throughout the year. Mondays might be the end of the weekend, but are also the start of what I always hope will be a productive and positive run of 5 days. Mondays that are also vacation days are especially nice; allowing me the luxury of time to reflect on my many blessings: healthy family, strong marriage, sturdy (if quirky) home, food on the table, interesting employment, and friends I can count on.
...and once all that is done, time to write.