living dreams

It’s early here, the sky a dull, pale gray, barely lightened from the darkness of the night. The moon still hangs in a luminous sliver as the hidden sun rises behind the clouds opposite its counterpart. Even the birds are quiet this morning, burrowing into their nests, singing ever so gently and sparingly. The air is crisp and cool at 66 degrees, a chilly morning in September. With heavy eyes, I sit here in my sweatshirt, the damp breeze refreshing on my sleepy skin.

It is the moments like this one that remind me of all the beauty in the world. It is these moments that have begun to come more frequently in these past couple of weeks, reawakening my senses, offering more hope with each passing day.

I have not written much lately (or at least I have not posted very often) and for a while, I wondered what reason lay beneath the paucity of my words. I questioned whether is was the changes in my schedule, the adjustments to new ways of spending my days and nights, or was it simply that I had nothing to say? I know now why the words have not been coming as often…rather than writing, I have been living.

Of course writing and living can coexist and often do, even in my world. But lately, my world has begun to evolve…the words manifesting in actions or conversations, the solitude captured in moments of peace when no action is even necessary.

The seasons are beginning to change and I am still dreaming of falling amber leaves and weekend trips to the mountains. Of sitting fireside in the company of new friends and old, warming my body, coffee by morning, red wine by night. I am still dreaming of wrapping myself in chenille blankets as I get lost in books, reading stories of other lives and other places. But it is not all dreams these days.

As I sit here in the early morning, as the birds’ songs become more audible and the breeze quickens for just a moment, I am aware that even right now, I am living my dreams.