Ordinary days are the best. The tempo of routine isn’t something I dread. I wake up to see my husband sleeping next to me and I smile. My daughter wakes up, the pitter-patter of her feet quick and then she stops to check to see if we are both in our room in the morning. As soon as she curves the hallway, I hear my morning rooster call, “Momma!” and my day begins.

What follows are routine everyday things, which most classify as boring. I find comfort in making my daughter’s lunch, doing bills, and washing dishes.  I enjoy the time in between these things, the slice of solitude sandwiched in-between.  Yesterday, walking to the mailbox, I noticed a green cactus, and in the middle of all the thorns, there was a single yellow flower.

The flower reminds me of those moments in between the ordinary. A kiss from my daughter, a hug from my husband, and a cup of tea after a morning run. There is something extraordinary about these little things that happen amidst everything. It is what I call the preciousness of solitude.

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