The Warmly Lit Window in the Woods

I was on the back porch looking into the woods and I saw a warmly lit window. As I got closer the cottage looked like a memory I'd had once. The door opened and I was welcomed by a man and a woman - english gardener grandparents. The table was set for a pot roast dinner finishing up on the hearth. After pecan pie, I was tucked into a plump bed in a niche by the fireplace. This quilt-soaked feather bed was mine whenever I needed it. I fell asleep to the glow of the fire, music from the phonograph and the lingering scent of cinnamon.

So, that's where my heart is these days when I sit on th porch in the dark trying to make sense of my higher power and the lessons I am supposed to absorb. I want sanctuary so much. Only for a short time. Only long enough to snap out of this fear of my first step into another era of my life. I know the snap is coming soon. I don't feel prepared. My nerve endings remind me that I am so ridiculously grounded in a lack of resources that I am paralyzing myself and should be paying attention for signs of hope and abundance and be grateful at all times. Easy for YOU to say. . . So I should stop looking into the warmly lit windows, perhaps, and head for the open doors.