Sleep gives way to morning.
This is not new.
I try, as much as I can, to hold on to Sleep – but no. Sleep is slipping away from me. Even with my eyes still closed, I can feel daylight making its grand entrance. If the day is beginning, my ability to stay under the covers dissipates rapidly.
I open my eyes, as I do every day , and sigh. As I do, everyday – especially on Monday…the dreaded start to the week. Same old story, right after every Sunday…
Except, this one is different.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and force myself up into the position known as “sitting”, feet making contact with the floor. I stand on still sleepy legs and stretch, numbly leaving my bedroom.
Same as I always do when I wake up….
But this morning my path is different.
The kitchen is not where it was the previous day. The coffee maker has also changed locations. Luckily, I manage to find both.
When I finally make it out to the patio, caffeine, laptop and notebook in hand, I pause and survey my environment.
Again, I sigh.
All I want is something that has not changed. My chair – at the head of the table. It has not changed! – And there it is – waiting for me with open arms. A soft place to land. Such an odd feeling – doing the same sequence of events as they are done every morning…but in a completely different place.
This is my first morning in my new house, having just moved in the day before. Everything I do is the same, but the setting is not. The stage I am doing it on is completely different.
Routine can be fickle? Routine can be warped? Yes, it can.
I take my usual position at the table. Coffee within comfortable reach of my left hand. The screen on my laptop casting a soft glow, news feed telling me what I have missed in the rest of the world.
The sun is coming up behind me now. Before, in that place I used to call home, it rose in front of me.
The garden to my left is no longer dominated by Hostas and Beebalm. Now it is full of Brown-Eyed Susans and Roses.
The pond has been replaced by a long row of Day Lilies, planted en masse, in a narrow sea of orange, yellow and white. They, like me, are slowly, tentatively, greeting the day.
It is all foreign…every single detail within view.
Nothing will be exactly as I knew it for so many years before this morning.
Now I have work to do… with all of this new-ness. I will carry on. I will adjust. I wonder about the mornings yet to come. The years I will spend in this place. The events that will shape my life. The memories that will be created. The words I will write while sitting on this patio. The changes that will happen to me and to my family for as long as we call this place “home”.
With these thoughts, I am suddenly filled with optimism.
This day is not just a day. This morning is not just a routine. This is a new chapter just getting started in a whole new book.
I understand that this current drama of feeling unfamiliar will cease to be. That which is new right now, will soon become merely another fold in the fabric of what is widely known as day-to-day.
This day is the first day – and none that follow will hold such a title.
(Truly “Writing” The Girl today! This is the first of a new weekly writing challenge hosted by the awesome folks at the Daily Post! Maybe a bit more “wordy” than my recent posts…but wow – ! Awesome writing fun!!!)