A new Monday morning.
Theo, tight fisted, dozes under the piano for an early morning nap. Archer has yet to wake. Robert prays and reads at his desk. I situate myself between my (getting cold) coffee, water, toast, and books.
The books. Here’s the thing. I have a bad habit of reading for a few weeks and then taking a long break where I just don’t feel like reading. Shelves of our books beg me to give them a chance, yet still just the other day I attempted to start a random ebook off the digital “to read” list I keep. It’s silly.
This morning, feeling inspired, I remind myself to hide the evil ipad so Archer will not be tempted to w-a-t-c-h. (We have to spell it out like that in our house, do you?) Out of sight out of mind, I hope. So no reading ebooks for me today! Or anyday, really.
Anyway, the books. They beckon me to that shelf in the corner and really I’m having trouble picking one. Something short would put me back in the habit of reading after feeling the satisfaction of finishing a book. Poetry seems manageable. Still, I can’t pick just one so I take “Night” by Elie Wiesel. It’s thin.
…And I pick up “Possibility of Being” by Rilke. The first two pages have me transported to another realm. I feel as though I’ve dipped into the Kingdom of God. Fighting off the urge to run in and interrupt Robert’s quiet, I want to savor this moment.
These verses possess life, and Rilke breathes into my day. A new week marinated in poetry–Monday given wings by these words.