Read, then stretch again after a bit, then find some deliciousness called breakfast. Hear the warmth of the shower singing upstairs and go join in (if not the singing then just the shower).
Find your hat, sandals, sunglasses. Take your husband's hand and go out walking. Notice everything: the cloudless blue sky; the rock and flower gardens, the quail running down the street.
Merge onto the river path and dance sideways when your husband hears a snake rustle in the grass. Hear the red-winged blackbirds and an assortment of other birds whose names you wish you knew. Peek at the mother swan who continues to build her old nest into this year's level of comfort. No eggs yet. Watch her guy strut his stuff on the far side of the water, likely ready to battle the Canada geese who honk nearby.
Dodge some more snakes, that you never see but your husband doesn't miss, and come to the part of the trail that becomes a river. Decide to turn back, but then take an alternate exit where you see a wood duck family scurry over the water.
Back to the road, make your way home and prepare lunch. Let your husband come rescue you when nothing seems to come together quite as you would like. Hugs and corn bread make it all better.
Retreat downstairs to the warmth of a fire—never mind that summer is just on the horizon—and devour lunch. Then snuggle into your food coma and enjoy a classic movie.
End up back outside in the brightness and walk again, this time to Starbucks. Take your computer and read over a few blogs before settling back onto your own. Slurp down a chocolate smoothie—that could handle more chocolate, in your opinion—while thinking, talking, writing, and every little bit looking up radios online for your husband.
People watch; observe the setting sun. Breathe in. Breathe out. Take time just to be.
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