I'm not filled with an abundance of flowery words or lofty ideas tonight; instead, I'm propped up in bed, having just updated my blog identity and given myself a bit of a cyber-facelift here, and I'm feeling rather comfortable. There's just a little chill in the bedroom air tonight, but under the deep brown comforter, my toes are warm against the peacefully resting legs of my husband, whose softish breathing is threatening to lull me into the realm of the sandman right along with him.
It's a good sort of night; the house has fallen silent, and the only movement lies in my fingertips and in the dreamings of my peaceful children down the hallway, tucked in their beds with their dearly loved blankets wrapped around each of them as though they were fine china plates wrapped carefully in their packing boxes.
I think I'll pack myself in for the night, as well, and wait for the movement of dreaming to carry me off, where maybe I'll find some flowery words hiding and waiting to get to my fingertips.
--Teri.
