Warmth

When I spend a long weekend in the mountain with my friends, each day ends with all of us gathered by the fire. Sometimes we dance. Sometimes we give each other massages or reiki. Always we talk. Quilt Artist will stitch bright bits of fabric, LovesCats will knit, and we all bring books and journals. We had a full moon ceremony one year, out on the porch, and another year, we took a long walk in the dark. Sometimes we listen to music, and other times, the crackling of the fire and the faint sound of the wind chimes on the porch keeps us company. Nights end with intimate conversation, as I stay up late to confide in one of my friends.

I fall asleep on the floor in front of the fire, settled cosily in a sleeping bag. When I wake in the morning, the fire is gone, but often the coals are still warm.

Because we stay up late, we get a slow start to the morning. Sleepily, we stumble out of bed, one at a time. Gorgeous Eyes makes coffee, filling the room with that wonderful scent. I don't drink coffee, but I love the smell. I fill the tea kettle with water and put it on the stove. I find a warm place on the porch to sit with my tea, positioning myself so that the sun will touch me. One at a time, my friends join me, the screen door slamming gently shut as each woman arrives with a bowl of food or mug of coffe. Slowly, we drink hot liquid, let the sun warm our skin, and gaze out at the lake. A peaceful start to the day.



That's a close-up of my friend Gorgeous Eyes.