A Weight

I woke up this morning with something weighing on my spirit. Not a heavy, sad weight. But still a weight. I sat up in bed for a few minutes just sitting with this feeling. Allowing it to stir me. Listening to its vibration.

I was still unsure of what exactly this weight was when I was brewing my coffee. I stared at the carafe as hot coffee dripped down. Watched as steam pressed against the sides of it, clouding the clear glass. I listened to the groans and sputters of my coffee maker while choosing a mug from the cupboard. Comparing the weight on my spirit to the weight of the ceramic mug I held in my hand. Similar. Not overbearing, but felt.

I settled on my couch. Placed my coffee on a coaster. I glanced out the window and noticed how the gray clouds stretched across the sky like cotton balls being pulled apart. A warm pink hue peeked through just above the horizon.

Something in me settled. I released breath from my lungs and felt the tension in my shoulders relax. Still unsure of the significance of the weight. But grateful it kept me grounded in the present. Otherwise, I might have missed the scene outside my window.

Photo by Allison Christine, @happyal