Blessings

We were having a special dinner.  We needed flowers. These are the ones my son carried home—violet skinned and bright eyed.  This morning I worked for several hours, then stepped outside toward sky and sun to clear the dead glad stalks from the feet of the rising daffodils and collect the twigs knuckled down from the recent storm.  I have never taken the sanctity of home for granted, and in the wake of news like we've had, in the wake of all the tremendous sadness of Japan, I am ever more cognizant of how lucky I am, how rich in life, to set flowers down into a well of fresh water in an unbroken vase on a table that is steady, rooted, calm.  Books in the background, photos on the wall, things in their place.  My place, here, now.