Dear Reader,
If someone were to ask me what my favorite time of day is, my first pick wouldn’t typically be the morning. Not because I’m not an early riser or request no questions before coffee, but rather because I relish the wind down. I delight in the pink wash of the sky at the day’s end, lighting the candle when the sun has dipped below the tree line and the house becomes dim, collecting ingredients on the counter and dreaming up a meal with what is there, the slow chop, stir and simmer, watching the cats compete for their turn to nestle into the perfectly carved-out cradle of the warm stone beside our little house.
Lately though, since moving here, I have learned to love the mornings. The large windows and honest light wake us early and this week, as the sun has finally returned after a long month of inconsistent presence, I drag the outdoor rocking chair into the sun path and complete my assimilation into the world from there.
The other morning with a mug in one hand, I thumbed through my email inbox — not my recommended way to start the day but nonetheless, like I’m sure you are too, I am guilty of a morning scroll. Working with one hand, I accidentally sent a selection of emails into an unintended folder, leading me to the all mighty All Mail section. As a prideful inbox gleaner, I was shocked to see thousands of junk emails dwelling here, and in my new-day high, I selected all and hit delete. The second shock of the morning came when I went back to my inbox to find it completely empty — every tracking number, confirmation code, saved correspondence thread, gone. Cut to me digging through the digital trash can. An hour or so later I’d recovered what I needed, and in my sifting through the virtual stacks of junk mail, I found love letters.
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