"Shh..I'm reading" coffee mug

My eyes blink open to black of night, my body disoriented to time and place.  It's saying nine but the clock insists it's three.

Familiar is foreign and foreign is familiar.

Crazy, sleepy thoughts, crafted from fatigue and mental exhaustion, the toll paid from a day chasing sunlight, 24 hours with eyes staked open.  Sometimes they forget how to shut.

Home is where the heart is and mine is a heart divided.  

Hansel and Gretel I think in dreamy delirium, but it fits.  All these places I've visited, and each one is My Favorite – how can that be possible? but it is! – I've left a trail of crumbs, pieces of my heart, hopeful (but uncertain) to return to gather them again.  

Such thoughts are lullaby and they sing me back to sleep, attempt at aligning my life (again) to this place.  I'm grateful to God so I tell Him.  

This time morning's light nudges me awake and I rise to her call.  It's chilly in this house – I'm not used to artificial air yet – so I dig for the fleece and hug it close.  

My house is full with the sound of sleep so I pad on fairy feet to my kitchen.  I open the cabinet door, greeted by my favorite mug–I swear I hear her whisper, "Welcome home, dear friend."  I squeeze her happy with both hands.

I measure coffee for two cups full, sit at my counter and begin to drink in the day.

And then the coffee is ready. 


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