This morning I got up early . . . very early. One minute I was asleep, and the next I was totally wide awake.
And excited about something.
But I didn't know why.
I put on my powder blue flannel nightshirt that, because it is over-sized and reaches to my ankles, I wear as a robe. My mother-in-law made me that nightshirt, and if there were a word whose definition included warm/comfort/love/home, all rolled into one, it would be my nightshirt.
Walking downstairs, I felt the excitement of children on Christmas morning seconds before they round the corner to storm the family room and see what Santa brought.
I went outside to get the newspaper.
In the middle of the driveway, in my over-sized flannel nightshirt, I gloried in the crisp, cool, fresh morning air.
I gazed at the midnight blue-black sky, liberally sprinkled with stars as far as the eye could see.
The streetlight cast a light so gentle that it was like a whisper.
I marvelled at the stillness of it all.
And I had one of those moments . . . you know, the kind that come out of no where.
The kind of moment that isn't planned, or thought out, or cluttered with the craziness of life.
The kind of moment that is a gift so pure it simply requires you to reach out and take hold of it.
The kind of moment that makes you happy, gloriously happy, that you are alive.
No wonder I had been excited.