Our house silently waits for a brand new day. In the earliest morning, there is no world beyond the opaque windows around me, beyond my cup of coffee, my pen and journal. I recently started a new journal, but I don’t much like it. Yes, the cover is pretty, it has a satin ribbon to hold my place, the pages are lined, the edges gold-tipped. But the paper itself, the weight of the journal, something is off. The feel of a journal is important to me. (But I won’t waste paper, so I’ll continue using it.)
Lucy and Annabelle nestle beside me. They recognize this brand new day, this earliest morning time, the time that comes after sleep but before the day truly begins. It’s my preferred time to write, a time when my mind is rested, still somewhat in a dreamy state, unaffected by negative, external and internal. I protect this time fervently, and for the most part, they let me. With each small breath, their curled bodies float up and down, up and down. This is the quietest they will be today, yet their stillness could end instantaneously with an outside rustle imperceptible to me. The knowledge of this keeps me extra focused.Continue Reading
