 French la Vie 
This morning, the sun streamed across the floor as I made my bed. The light fell into the far corner of the room — the one by the dresser, where the wall has a painting with a tear in it.
It stopped me. I’ve passed that spot a thousand times, swept it, decorated around it, probably bumped my knee into it without a second thought. But this morning, it felt like the house said: Look.
And so I did.
The curtain moved slightly in the breeze. And that corner — became a little chapel. Quiet, golden, and oddly tender.
I stood there longer than I expected. I thought about all the things that have happened in this house since I started writing this blog. The meals, the children’s laughter, the friends who’ve stayed, the silence that followed, the furniture that’s come and gone — and how this one corner has stayed unchanged.
Isn’t it strange, the way life moves through a space? And how, if you stay still long enough, the light shows you something you didn’t know you were holding?
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