It's not very often I wake, willingly, before the sun rises. During the winter, it's hard to avoid having to get out of bed in the dark and drive to work in a pre-dawn haze, simply because we live far enough north that the sun sort of forgets about us for a few months. It checks in periodically, but for the most part, it vacations in the tropics (just as I'd like to do). During the summer, it's supposed to hang out for regular bouts of quality time, though this summer it's been neglecting it's duties. Today is one of those days. I can already see a gray sky encompassing trees that look damp, though it hasn't even rained yet. It's almost as if the branches, in anticipation of a downpour, are already drooping just because it's easier. Cedars are truly the most depressed trees I've ever seen. Is it any wonder that they grow with abundance in the Pacific Northwest?
Somehow, though, even though I've risen in the dark, read a hauntingly tragic chapter from The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, and been greeted by a gloomy Saturday sky, things are good. These quiet hours and I so rarely meet, that when we do, it's like sitting silently with an old friend - one who knows everything already, so there's no need to for words--in fact, they'd be counterproductive, filling air best left clear thought.
Maybe it's a blessing I couldn't sleep. I would have missed out on two or three whole hours of my last weekend of freedom.
Tip for today: Find some silence. It's good for the soul.
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