Chilly November

This is one of those mornings I woke from a sound, undisturbed sleep, something that doesn't often happen. I was a little stiff from lying in the same position for so may hours but I also didn't dream and I feel refreshed instead of like I need to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another eight hours. I usually want to sleep more but I get up and work and write and do all the things I need to do before it's time to climb onto the torture chair for another 8-12 hours of slave wages. That's life--or at least that's my life right now.

It's a clear cold morning and the sun glances off the bare branches striking silver and golden sparks beneath a cold pale blue sky full of drifting banks and islands of clouds. I smell snow on the breeze sneaking through the window I left open just a crack, a sharp, clean scent of moisture. There's a slight heaviness in the air, an anticipation like a held breath or an caught sigh. The buses labor through the streets outside the windows and cars whoosh by but here inside it's quiet and calm and full of golden light. Now I know why Feng Shui says the head of the bed should lie on a west wall--to see the dawn.

I haven't used an alarm clock in ages and I don't really need one most of the time. My windows are bare and the morning sun nudges me softly every morning, waking me slowly like a lover's kiss. There is no jangling bell, burst of raucous laughter or music or insistent buzz, just the slow tiptoe creep of the sun on the horizon getting slowly brighter and brighter welcoming me from the underworld of sleep and dreams and calling me back from my wanderings to another day.

The weekend was busy. Can you tell?

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And I'm not done yet.