We rose this morning to sun.
Light this morning and last night the last of the sun light lit up the trees, and then, we saw the moon and the first star and I made my wish.
I love the varieties of fog we experience here. We could have one hundred names and then when the sunlight returns it is exciting.
My grandmother was Norwegian and a great cook. She loved to bake and one of her specialties was pinwheel cookies. I love to bake, also, but seem to find pinwheel cookies a bit of a challenge as the vanilla dough and the chocolate dough need to line up perfectly and it is easy to align by cutting a little here and a little there and soon a great deal has disappeared so I was delighted to see pinwheel cookies in a bakery near me and as I slowly ate them I felt like Proust with his madeleines. (Dictionary.com says this is a correct spelling and yet the red line looms in dismay. Ah, perhaps it is grammatically incorrect.) Anyway, memory stirs, lining up the present and the past like two doughs, rolled and cut, nourishing in rays the ebb and flow of sun, mist, love, light.