Some morning’s breath so cool and seductive, you cannot help but enter the invitation. Some mornings the whispered invitation lies content in the arms of gentle music….and a dust cloth.  So many gifts of rocks, wood, and feathers. And yes, they snuggle in the quilt of dust. Kissed and caressed by the music I lift each gift and pull back the quilt.

Dusting reminds me of my mother.
She had none.
Touching a gift replays the moment found
Or teases my memory.
Others change my DNA.
The play of clean had not truly begun
When open windows ushered fresh dust
To their seats.
And so I take a break
Pausing to reflect on the before
And after.
Dust and dusting my guru.
A touch to the heart.
A soft giggle.
A sip of coffee.
A whispered, “I like that song.”
Yep, dust and dusting.
A lot like me.
Break over.
Time to begin…again.