It’s early morning. I slide my feet into fleecy slippers, lift my softest cardigan from where it hangs on the hook inside the closet door, thread my arms through the sleeves

Daylight came slowly. Beyond the glass, a rare fog hung thick and milky and pregnant

They were snuggled against the pillows on the daybed in the boy room, a four year old, a two year old, and a newborn

In the still-dark hours of early morning, I settle in at the end of the sofa with my laptop, a knitted throw blanket, and a cup of hot tea

I was going to a wedding held at an historic farmstead in a valley tucked into the Rocky Mountains of northern Idaho.

Sometimes, it abundantly flows all on its own; other times, it requires intention, pushed along by effort. It’s not about perfection, but it is about beauty. And mindset. And hope.

The cool of early morning, grasses sloshed with dew, sprinklers tick-ticking circles around the lawn. The waking sun gentle and golden, highlighting.

It felt so extravagant sitting there in the window seat padded with cushions, a cup of tea in hand.

Sometime during the wane of last summer, I began to consider how I might shift some things, adjust choices and habits to better align with my penchant for simplicity and my inspiration toward stewardship.

Ah, loves. When it feels like our pillars are shifting, our anchors aren’t holding, and our normal is not anymore, take heart.

That a simple turn of a calendar page can give you the feeling of a fresh start, that a new year does, indeed, feel new, is a particular wonder.

I’m quite amazed that I can sit here at the picnic table on the terrace and write to you. In a sundress, no less.