A hot breakfast on a cold morning when there's finally not too much on the schedule is a wonderful thing for the spirit. The chance to putter and meander about, with no recipes to follow or holiday baking lists to cross off. Just a refrigerator full of leftovers and my own, singular appetite as a guide. Truly a little piece of heaven in my book.
This morning I heated up some leftover sweet potatoes along with a few handfuls of dino kale in a skillet on the stove. When the potatoes were hot and the kale wilted, I cracked in two farm eggs, sprinkled on some salt, black pepper and a touch of hot sauce and there it was. Well, almost. Buttered toast and hot tea completed the picture. I sat down at my kitchen table and ate in the silence. Steam rose up from my eggs and tea in quiet half-dark, the sun barely a presence out the kitchen window. A few brave winter birds ventured a chirp or two but otherwise, it was just me and the comforting sound of the fork hitting the plate.
It's a new year, a new beginning, but I don't know what's ahead. Adventure? Disappointment? Something new and wild, or more of the same? Probably all that and more but, as usual, it's all a mystery. How many times do we head determinedly towards something only to find ourselves arriving somewhere completely different? The doctor becomes a painter, a sketch of a flower morphs into a tornado, the winter stew is actually turning out to be soup. Rising from the table, I'm glad for my hearty breakfast. Never mind the entire year ahead, who knows what the rest of the day will bring?
Related: Weekend Meditation: Love & Time
(Image: Dana Velden)