There is nothing remarkable
about this moment.
The dryer just stopped its rhythmic turning,
the low hum of the fridge continues,
and I am sitting, feet up,
on our red womb of a couch
– warm and welcoming
and bearing the marks of years
of after-school snacks and TV suppers.

And here we are,
cups of hot tea in hand,
sharing comfortable silence,
absorbed in turning pages
or scratching words in a journal.

The good work of the week is behind us,
and the gift of time and space
to rest, to be,
to think, and take stock,
opens up and ushers us in.

This is a ritual so simple
it appears not to be one at all,
but its rhythm sustains us
and holds us together.
Draining my cup,
I sink with gratitude
into the morning’s unremarkable embrace.