I woke up this morning as a lovely stream of light came pouring through my window and across the blanket my granny crocheted for me. I nested; actually I was already in a nest of sorts. I thought back to my childhood and something I am shocked never occurred to me until now. My mother always used to call my beds nests. I was never forced to make my bed each morning as a kid because every night I would purposefully mess it up to my liking before climbing in. My mother used to say that I could nest anywhere, the car, the woods, by a campfire, in the living room, in my toy box, in the laundry basket, you name it. In fact I used to have this small basket I carried around as a child for the sole purpose of squeezing myself into if when I wanted to sit. These small, cozy spaces were comforting to me then and they are comforting to me now. Again, I am amazed that it took me this long to make a seemly obvious connection.
This mornings nest.