The alarm bleeps its blaring expletives at the day and the coffee pot answers with comfort and inky black grace.
It's a warm blanket for my brain. I drink down extra sleep and the day waits for light.
It's still dark outside and I make his lunch and we chat over the scratched-up-and-much-too-abused table, over cups of beautiful black beans ground coarsely and soaked in pure water. Steaming. Appreciated.
Our feet rest on the same chair.
Our hearts go in the same direction.
Our house unfolds the sanctuary of worship and ordinary people and everything beautiful to drown the ugly.
He leaves for the world and its harshness and a cold draft blows in the door he walks through, and blows around in the hallway for a minute more as I grab a blanket and take my position on the couch.
It's black like my coffee and cold like the air he walked into, and comfy like the familiar places always are.
It's a place of prayer and Bible study... and instagram, honestly.
I hear another alarm from upstairs and then a man-hand slams it quiet and feet hit the floor, water runs, and the sun is coming up over the neighbor's.
Another ordinary day starts but maybe today; maybe this morning because there are clouds; maybe this day will be extra-ordinary.
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