Yesterday was my second sick day in a year.  I did actually go to work for two hours, but then I retreated to my couch and spent a vast majority of the day sleeping, which is exactly what sick days were made for.  Sometime after coming out of that coma, I ended up on the porch with a book.  I felt pretty justified in that use of time, too.  It was a book for work, after all.

The real fun is that it was warmer outside yesterday than it’s been for a while.  It’s easy to forget what a lovely invention the porch swing is when it’s cold out.  A breeze isn’t really what you’re looking for in 30-degree weather.

So yesterday I sat there reading, occasionally looking at the front yard I hope to turn into a beautiful garden (currently filled with dead grass and clumps of weeds… hmm).  I was still tired and not really resigned to the idea of returning to work the next morning.  I had lots of filing to do in the hours after the reading break, but in that moment I felt like I was soaking up peace.  I was suspended in quiet, out of my normal scheduled activities, thinking about nothing in particular except for the heroine of my book.  It was a beautiful moment, and I can’t wait for  many more like it as spring and summer roll around.