Slice of Life, Chapter Two

(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),

  1. I am so on your page, although I have never been able to sleep in the morning. It’s a family thing. My grandparents were always up early to begin their day and when we stayed with them, visiting it was fun to join them in their rituals. My parents came from that tradition as well and back home we would enjoy that early morning time with my dad first.
    When I am home with them I still get up to share breakfast and the quiet.
    Tuvia is an early riser and when I’m home on my own, it’s here where I am, writing. Now I’m in a hotel. At home I can luxuriate at the river window in my living room and it’s my most productive time of the day. Of course I don’t have kids so it’s not as precious. It lasts generally as long as I want it to. But it’s hard to leave to move to another activity.
    This is a long comment. Wow, inspired. I love to write in the morning, about the morning.

  2. I like being up early in the morning, too … though my current night teaching schedule makes that difficult. When I’m ‘home’ in Jamaica, I’m out early-early every day: walking the beach, riding my bike, sitting quietly on the top of a hill looking out over Billy’s Bay with my journal and pen in hand. After that, I’m ready to go get some breakfast and start my day. I love the silence of early morning, the space it gives my brain and heart to breathe, to listen to one another.

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