One of my best investments in comfort is the rocking chair on our porch that sits facing east for the new day. Most mornings I step outside to a black sky and sit with the last bit of night. I’m wrapped in fleece from head to toe in a big furry robe and old shearling slippers. With coffee in hand, I rock and sip as the stars fade into the morning light.
With a hint of the new day backyard birds begin their songs. Some smooth, some brittle, their collective noise is like an orchestra tuning up. The chorus continues until the sky turns blue and the sun peeks thru the tall pines in my neighbor’s yard. A new sound emerges. It’s a low rumble from the first wave of cars in the street beyond our little forest. Its soothing like the white noise from a conch shell. I rock until peace is in my pores.
In the summer, I find myself rocking at noon as well. The sky can’t match the sunrise, but the garden can. It’s filled with soulful offerings like lavender and rosemary, bee balm and roses. Last summer I made friends with the daisies who live beside the rocker. Three large white blooms introduced themselves in June while a gang of buds waited their turn. They leaned to me in salutation. Having the daisies grow so close to the rocker, I saw them rise and unfold throughout the summer. First with tight green buds, then with emancipated petals. For weeks blooms stood two-feet-tall with a halo of perfectly white petals surrounding golden, nubby yolks. In August, when their heads drooped and their petals wilted, I trimmed their stems like an undertaker. By now, we were friends for life.
Sometimes my dogs Lance and Clarissa napped at my feet. I rocked in sync with their sleepy breath. Clarissa died this summer, but I have a clear memory of her flat-out on the porch, resting on my right. With a quiet mind, my soul felt the goodness of the moment.