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Mornings When it is Easy to Think Deeply.

It’s thunderstorming outside. Even though it’s 9:00 AM, the streetlight outside my window is still on and burning brightly since the sky is overcast. I just pulled myself out of bed to close the curtains so it wouldn’t be in my eyes.

The air is cool and pouring through the screen which is a welcome change from the last several weeks when it was around eighty or ninety degrees each night. I’ve been taking cold showers before bed out of desperation and turning on all the fans in our apartment each night. We wake up to get ready for work and sweat while putting our makeup on. I’ve learned to always pour myself a glass of water right away in the morning to avoid any headaches.

This, of course, is our own choice (a valiant attempt to save money over the summer), so I really can’t complain. But if you haven’t been in the Twin Cities in the last month, let me just assure you: it’s. been. hot.

Now, a car drives by on the street—the sound of water spraying out from the tires. Thunder rumbles, and I can hear the drain pipe from the gutters on the building next door as a steady stream pours from the opening. The ground is steaming. When I first woke up, I heard the rain pouring down and realized I had forgotten my Bible, another book, and a half-drunk cup of coffee on the screened-in porch from the previous morning. So I booked it out of bed, unlocked all three locks on the porch door (it always feels a bit medieval with so many clasps and bolts), and scooped both up. The books were a bit cold but not damp enough to have wrinkled pages.

This is a sleepy morning. I’m tired, and most of me wishes I was still sleeping. But it feels good to be up earlier than my alarm and huddled under the covers while the storm rolls by. I’m contemplating a fresh cup of coffee now—as well the porch again and a sweatshirt. There is a crack of light coming under my door which can only mean that Jojo is up and rustling around in the kitchen. I think I’m going to join.

Goodmorning and enjoy this rainy hour.

Love,
Lo

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