Kitchen Table Wisdom

This morning, something stirred—
a soft flutter I hadn’t felt
since childhood summers
when dawn itself felt like a secret
whispered only to me.

Back then, I woke with the world
already humming in my bones,
the day stretching wide before me,
every hour bright with possibility.
Even sleep felt like a delay—
a curtain pushed aside
so adventure could begin.

Nothing needed planning.

Those were the days
that shimmered—
surprise tucked into folds
of ordinary time,
joy leaping out from behind
the simplest moments.

And it was that child—
the one who trusted mornings—
who woke first today.

She lay quietly in the half‑light,
listening to the soft patter of rain
as if it were speaking her name.

“Hello, rain,” she whispered,
with the same unguarded wonder
she once carried everywhere.

When the rain stilled,
she waited—
because she always waited—
for the next gift the world would offer.

And there it came:
the bright call of a robin,
the gentle coo of a mourning dove.

“Good morning, Mr. Robin.
Hello, Miss Mourning Dove.”

Her voice rose inside me
like a memory stepping forward.

Molly felt it too—
that quiet shift,
that brightening of the air.

She pranced in delighted circles,
tail painting joy across the room,
as if she recognized the child
who was coming out to play.

Years have a way
of sanding down
the edges of wonder.

Responsibilities gather like stones
in the pockets of our days.

And somewhere along the way,
I learned to brace for the unexpected
instead of running toward it.

Wonder faded.
Caution grew.

But this morning—
because the child in me
rose first—

I felt her hand slip into mine.

Time drifted,
aching joints forgotten,

as she reminded me how to listen,

how to greet the world
with open hands,
how to trust the morning.

For she—
this child of wonder—
is the truest reflection of the Creator,

the one who still knows
how to meet the world
with unguarded joy.

So I rose slowly,
letting the light find my face,
letting breath settle into gratitude.

And I made a quiet vow:

to follow her lead,
to welcome whatever comes
as if joy might be hiding in it,
waiting to be found.

So won’t you meet me us in this day?

We’ll walk in the sunshine,
we’ll dance in the rain,

and together
find our way back to wonder.

Cathy D.