(This is part of the Slice of Life Project)
I covet the quiet. The only sounds in the house this early in the morning are mechanical and I wish I could just throw a white noise filter over it all and let the solitude invade this space. It won’t be long before the first of three sets of footsteps come pounding down the stairs for the morning ritual. Time is precious in these first waking hours and I am at my most clear, most creative, most attentive to the purposes of my life as a writer.
Years ago, in youthful ignorance, I would sleep during this early morning time. My life was in full slumber. No longer. Either it is age getting to me, or my mind working overtime at night and willing my body awake, I come to my senses in almost full alert each morning. I feel alive. If I am writing a song, the lyrics dance in my head and I must reach for paper before they are lost. If I am working on a story, the characters move in front of me. I understand them in ways I had not the day before.
This morning, the white coat of snow from yesterday’s storm still lingers on the yard outside and as the sun comes up, the neighborhood is peaceful. The sky is red and orange as the Earth twists itself into place for sunlight gathering. It is a time of potential, I feel, and I am part of that. Sometimes, here and at this hour, we see bears and deer walking through. One time, later in the morning hours, my sons and I even came upon two moose strolling through our streets and we were as surprised as they were. We wondered where they lived and where they would go but they galloped off at such surprising speeds for their size. They were gone before we knew it, before we could wonder if we really had seen moose.
And so, this morning, I look out my window and I wonder at the surprises that today might hold for us. And, as always, I write.
Peace (in slices of life),