A cold quiet morning

I could hardly sleep last night - my neck all bent up from unfamiliar pillow. Half way through my half-slept night I almost braved the 17 degree weather to go to the car and grab my frozen pillow from the back. But in half-sleep and warmth, I couldn't muster the courage.

I finally gave up on sleep because the neck pain made me too stiff and simply got out of bed early. With two layers of sweatpants and two sweaters and an overcoat, I stood in the chill, coffee cup in my bare hands, and watched the nothingness of morning's solitude.

Funny how the nothingness of solitude is packed full of muchness. At first glance, there seems to be nature in frozen paralysis and that's all. At second glance (and with that striking feeling of only 17 degrees on your face) you begin to wake up and see that in this space, where no human is roaming except for yourself who is standing in it, there are at least living things that seem to breathe; trees with broken limbs from last week's ice storm, bushes man-cut to the shape of a triangle, grass struggling to turn green as winter struggles to pass.

The picture becomes clearer - although silence is about you, no cars, no yapping dogs, no tap-tap on the keyboard, no phone ringers - you hear the slight buzz from the electrical wires, you hear the hot tub churning, a bird shakes a tiny limb and in this stillness, it's almost orchestral and alarming. There is fullness all about you. The steam from your coffee cup is bold enough to elevate into the still and it creates waves in the air. You think you see the ivy climb the tree trunks in a race to get to the top. Your thoughts seem too loud, they are fighting for the spotlight above the silence which almost seems loud in-and-of-itself. You are not alone on this frozen, silent morning. You are among everythingness and you remember that you are part of its beautifully unique tapestry.

Good morning, my loves, good morning.

-Ginger