Morning in the Mountains.

I'm wrapped in my Mother's blanket, the quilted garnet one that she cherished. It folds all into itself and zips around, like a life well lived. It's spent many a nights pulled around me, laying on my Mother's lap, or her warmth tucked over my feet, the sound of waves cut by meandering pontoon boats and my family's stories. We would sip coffee and tea and eat dessert from a white rolling cart, peddled down the dock to our boat and tour the lake, remarking on cottages and waving at other passer-byers. These are my favorite memories. Stomachs full with Southside Pizza or grilled burgers, and hearts overflowing with love. Looking across out over fireworks or turtles, trolling by fishing boats, and sharing the life of family...

I'm here in the mountains, brown adirondack chair beneath me, blog on my lap, camera and phone beside me, and books and journals piled crossways at my toes. Chocolate truffle coffee creamed in my hand, sipped in slow motion, melting it in. My heart is finding rest, looking for steadfast, waiting for calm. Stirred by emotions, rumbling with thoughts, looking for ways to pour. I bring up my journal to my chest, pull it close and begin to unravel...

It's morning. Morning at the lake. Morning in the mountains.

My facebook status: "Blogging on a floating dock in the mountains of Virginia... waves slowly lapping at my side, coffee creamed in my hand, books and journals at my toes, and friends cozied under covers" inside... Morning. A good morning."