Routine

Most days are similar.

Get up. Shower. Dress. Let the cat in. Feed him. Eat a bit (if I've gotten up in time). Smudge my glasses when saying goodbye. Walk to the bus stop.

Generally I express my gratitude for the new day as I wait for the bus. Every day is marvelous: bright spring mornings with frantic aviary activity; hushed dark mornings with sounds muffled by newly fallen snow; crystal clear frosty mornings that take your breath away; the miracle of rainfall in the desert; the mystery of walking through low clouds.

When the bus arrives, I take my seat, put my glasses in their case, pull out my scriptures and read a couple chapters. Most days I'm ready for a nap after that. I open my eyes from time to time as the bus gets closer to the city, but my naps usually fill me with new energy and enthusiasm for the opportunities of the day. When I'm fully awake again, I wipe off my glasses and put them back on.

Often I witness the sunrise through bus windows. They frame the wonders of the morning. The Lord's artistic abilities regularly fill me with admiration. The things He can do with light, shadow and water vapor are stunning. Morning light reflected off snow-capped mountain peaks above a shadowy valley make me smile. Colors reflected through atmosphere we've dirtied illustrate how He can make beauty from anything.

Thank the bus driver. Walk to the Library. Enter through the back door. I'm still amazed that I have the priviledge to work here. Take the elevator. Hang up my coat and hat. Water my bamboo. Turn on my computer. Say "Hey!" to any one in the nearby cubbies. Log in. Check my email.

To many that sounds constrictive, binding, even boring. It is a comfort to me.

Bring on the day.