Photography Prose

Breakfast with Her


Bright early-morning rays stream through red transparent vases on the window sill near the sink in her cozy kitchen. These slanted, streaming sunbeams cast a soft glow on our two coffee cups placed near three, small-stacked devotional books, all bookmarked for the day’s study. Momma and I had worked earlier on this particular morning to create our special breakfast—grits, scrambled eggs, buttered toast (oven-styled) homemade strawberry jam, and freshly-brewed coffee.  There’s one thing this Momma o’ Mine and I know: our shared visits, treasures of the heart, always add to the mix of wonderful memories in the old home place—our beautiful Rose Hill home. This particular summer morning’s visit is no exception. As the day gains momentum, we, the seventh child and ninety-one-year-old mother, sit and stir coffee while sharing lighthearted and humorous conversations as time moseys on by us. Immediately we exchange smiles while noticing our two spoons’ graceful synchronization, the musical stirrings of utensils hitting sides of cups. She reaches for a certain book and begins to share the day’s devotion, a reflection about the importance of expressing gratitude. She gently brings her coffee cup to her lips and sips. Looking lovingly at me she speaks, “You know these books provide what we need, too—things that are just as important as the delicious food before us. The words in these books feed the spirit. I’ve been blessed in my ninety-one years, this seasoned life, and I have to stop to say it. I have to stop to say thank you.” She gently touches the page and continues to share the short devotion, tidbits of gold to make a day better. Then she reaches for my hand and shares a breakfast blessing immersed in gratitude. In these early-morning moments shared with her, my swelling heart reminds me that I know what she is talking about—there’s no question about it. She sincerely and wholeheartedly practices the teachings. After her prayer, our heads simultaneously turn toward the red vases on the kitchen window sill. What welcoming noise! Several hummingbirds swirl and sway in their circular air dances around the feeder. We sip, stare, and smile. I boldly ask, “Sweet Lady, mother of your seven, you have blessed and have been blessed. Everyone has anchored to your nature’s goodness. So many people love and treasure you. So—what will we do without you, if that day happens to show up, if that time comes to be?” As the morning ages, the sun rays brighten through windows, hummingbirds’ wings flutter, our spoons slowly stir, and our smiles wax and wane. She confidently answers, “You, seven children, handled it well with your daddy’s time; I saw you. You’ll do that in my time, too. You’ll carry on and learn to be strong.” More hummingbirds zoom in to join the zippy dance around the feeder. More sun rays steadily stream through the kitchen windows at Rose Hill. The warm coffee comforts. We watch, stir, sip, and swallow, (sometimes swallowing hard) our morning coffee together while falling into sacred silence. Sacred. Silence. Wings of hummingbirds soothe our souls. Echoes of time whisper. Time. Oh, time. There’s always a moment to tell, “Thank you.”  “Oh, Momma. Momma, thank you. Thank you.”  


4 replies on “Breakfast with Her”


There is a lifetime of love in the lines you have penned. What a beautiful and gentle way to start the day.
Thank you exponentially for sharing what is most surely a piece of your heart and your soul. It lifts me
with its serenity and is sure to do the same for all who read it.

It brought me smiles, and I confess, some tears. It is a joy in every sense. Thank you does not begin to
cover my appreciation, but I do thank you from the bottom of my heart.


Liked by 1 person

Oh, if you could only know my precious mother, Sarah. She is adorable. Sweet Emily. I’m brave today on the blog; I’m posting prose.


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