Sabbatical.

I'm taking myself on a Sabbatical today. And you have no idea how good it feels. I write from a little bakery and cafe, tucked away in some unknown town in South Carolina on my way to Charleston. The seat cushions are decorated with cheerful colored strips, bright colored gerbera daisys are potted in collaberating clay vases, woven baskets are hug from above, and boutique-style mugs and trickets shelved for sale line the walls. It is the most beautiful, refreshing place I have been since leaving for Charlotte.

Pastries and delicacies spread through cream flats, sprawling their way beneath the glass, lined for onlookers to behold and dream and wonder and glimmer as they pick their chosen out. I find a grace stretch across me, catering to this place and letting it awash me. The fifty year old woman aproned behind the counter endearing, polishing off orders and delights for customers, and caring enough to come around and chatter with me. The others spread service with contented smiles and add a few extra creams to my coffee, just for me. And my apple tart and blueberry muffin sit beside me, asking me to be delighted. To see possibility in them, and reclaim this piece of the day.

So it is morning. The beginning of my grace, the beginning of my sabbatical. It is morning, the part of the day where I have turned my phone off, released myself from duties or being, and simply am walking away to free me. To let myself rest, to smile when I want to, and frown when I need to. To gather treasures in a basket and link and sew them away, back into my heart, and piece together what is broken. This morning is the first day of my sabbatical. And today I will be free to be me.