this morning i cracked my eyes to the creaking of the bedroom door opening. and there he stood, steaming white mug in hand. on the mornings he brings me tea in bed, i get so happy, i feel so nurtured, i know i'm off to a good start, and i just know its going to be a good day. good, like the kind of day where the bright morning sun radiates through the windows while you stretch, and the first fire in the woodstove is already hot, and breakfast is already made and waiting. yes, today was that kind of day, the kind of day that makes you close the store early to go for a long walk along the river, scouring the ground with your eyes for signs of nettles and shouting out the speculative names of birds as they fly by. to someone like me, who for so long has been wound up tight like a new spool of thread, and who has been worn down like an old pair of work gloves, how precious these kinds of days seem. regenerative.