A snapshot of a glitter morning through the lens of a groggy midlife-aged woman…

When nature spills the glitter jar

Like furry gargoyles, our two cats, Giese and Pudgy, perch on the headboard of our bed and wait for their breakfast. If I sleep too long into the morning haze, they begin a choreographed plot of accidental pillow dives near my head. After the third or fourth “whoomp” of cat cannon-balling, I am forced to wake officially up. They always act innocent, but I swear I see them high-fiving each other in the hallway.

My husband has left for work, and the house feels his absence. It’s quiet, calm, and holding its breath until his return. Me too.

After I dress for the mild weather Minnesota is experiencing at the moment, I hook up our dog, Booker, to the leash. He prances and “woofs” in anticipation of our walk, and I do my best to get my gloves on before he yanks me out of the garage. It’s amazing how quickly 90 pounds of dog gets you going.

I inhale deeply and cast my eyes to the sky. For some reason that action causes me to say a silent prayer of gratitude. “Thank you for this day, and for this beautiful world.”

Booker heads off into the ditch to sniff a particularly ominous blob of snow. This stimulates his bladder and he pees on the snow in what can only be described as a yoga pose.  “Leaky Downward Dog.”

While he’s doing that, I notice the glitter Mother Nature has spray-painted over the grass and remaining dried blossom heads. I marvel at an artistry beyond my wildest ability.

Being in the moment? The best part of my day.