A cold February Sabbath in Bristol

I had another one of those moments today, one of those "I can't believe this is actually my life moments." Well, really the whole day felt this way. I spent another Sunday practicing Sabbath and a la Blair's comment last Sunday I took sometime for self-care.  Worship this morning at the Catholic Cathedral near my house, then as I walked home for lunch I actually saw some flakes of snow... not a flurry, just flakes.  [smile]  (But even flakes of snow have always seemed somehow magical to this Georgia Girl... even after my North Dakota adventure.)  I spent the afternoon lounging on my bed reading a magazine, listening to podcasts I've been meaning to catch up on, and napping.  Throughout the afternoon I tried to take a page from Elizabeth Whitson's children's book The Casual Observer, be aware of the beauty of my surroundings and watch the sky through my window change from pale blue to a deep cornflower to an irradiance violet as dusk began to fall. Before the night settled completely on my neighborhood, I decided to take a walk around the village and I found myself along with a few other people willing to bear the turn in the weather drawn toward the bridge.  Looking out at cityscape and then glancing back over the rooftops nearby, my one thought was how fortunate I am to be living in a place so beautiful.  All the colors of my landscape seemed especially soft and precious in the dusk on this cold crisp day.  Part of me can't imagine not living here forever... something about this environment is just so stimulating and invigorating.  But I imagine that part of the magic lies within its "otherness."  Perhaps my best hope for the future is in somehow storing up these experiences so that one day when I'm settled somewhere I can think back to the charming chimney-scapes of my year in Bristol.  

Just, Margaret