it feels like a time of waiting.
i'm waiting to get more music students. i'm waiting to hear if Drew and i were accepted into the foster care classes. the wheels of change (particularly the governmental kind) turn slowly--so slowly you can't even see movement. i'm waiting on God to hand me a small brown box and tell me this is it. open it, He'll say, and you'll know exactly what's next.
the cream of wheat is bubbling merrily on the stovetop. the fridge just joined in, accompanying the stream of pop pops with a steady droning hum. a fluffy ginger cat peeks in and decides there's nothing of interest going on in the kitchen. she leaves for brighter adventures.
i'm looking ahead for the new normal, waiting for the shape and size of the thing to emerge; to experience the taste on the tip of my tongue, to feel the heady aroma encircle me. and then i think, maybe this is it. this odd combination of free mornings in which i practice yoga and sip steaming coffee at my desk; of afternoons creating enchiladas or methodically sanding a bookcase, flecks of plum colored paint spiraling off in different directions; of evening lessons and children's smiles. maybe, for now, this is my new normal.
the cat is back and she's (re)discovered the reflective surface of the dishwasher. she peers intently. a cat gazes back at her and for the briefest minute, she's enthralled.