Marriage is not what you expect
Despite best intentions, there are some things
you cannot share with your spouse -
I don't mean secrets, fantasies, old emnities, or scars
These are what you expect to be hard
and find, to great joy, are not -
when there is kindness, and honesty,
It's smaller details.
If your husband
is not an early morning riser,
or indeed much of a walk-taker -
You cannot show him the first sweet light
in autumn, at the park - stillness,
blazing ruby leaves stuck with dew to still-green grass,
the neighbour's flowers sun-drunk, still pink, orange, purple, blue,
despite the chill
Damp, softly muting sand, cold; tiny footprints, untouched
You cannot tell of quiet, and peace.
The mixed smells
of leaves, earthy, starting to turn
your soap, aroma rising from still-wet hair,
cannot be given, hand to mouth (gentle, earnest nourishment), despite your love.
The fine, delicate sights -
single strands of spider's web
highlighted as it wavers in the air -
diamonds all around, moisture
as well as dryness and death -
decay, as well as ripening fruit.
Sun-dappled - the big, broad leaves - the tiny ones - the in-betweens:
These treasures instead must fill your heart,
through surrender, be transfigured
into light -
that which you can give,
thanking God for this singular election,
this divine vocation,
learning to share in a different way.
No baby yet. Contractions come in little teases - sometimes faint, achy ones during the day, sometimes stronger ones at night, just one, two or three before stopping. I went to Walmart this morning to buy polyester pillow stuffing for a nursing pillow whose case I've made, only to realize at the cash that I didn't have my wallet in this bag. Fail! Luckily my library card was in my little bag, so here I am, surfing the web, taking out books, etc. Not a complete waste of a morning.