Nesting...

Where did it come from, this urge to get my house in order before winter arrives?  I have no recollection of my mother doing this, but the seasons have always had their effect on my nesting instincts. In the autumn, when the days shorten and the air turns crisp and chilly,

A room at a time, I haul around my bucket full of cleaning tools and sprays, and clean every single surface. Waxing the clear fir floors, polishing the glass in the picture frames, dusting off the old quilts that hang on the walls. On hands and knees to clean the tile under the claw-footed tub, using a flashlight to see behind furniture I can't move.

I can take my time, knowing there are enough days to get everything done, to pause and take time to enjoy the gleam of wood and sparkling glass, one room at a time.