Last year this time, I headed home down ice abused streets.
Glancing towards windows as I drove.
Hoping for homes illuminated by the magic of electricity.
Ice ravaged our trees, our streets, tested our Southern spirits.
Walking into my den, I’m greeted by a den floor covered in mattresses.
Every blanket, quilt, afghan, cover or spread.
Beautifully, tidy and pretty.
My daughter has made our beds…and I am greeted with love and happy colors.
Everyone’s recalling the storm of 2014.
And I, this morning, in the quiet of early am cherishing this…
The time we slumbered together next to the fire.
When Heather made the beds.
Remembering now, my eyes moisten from the sweetness.
The happy place in the storm.
The happy slumber.