Good Morning...?
May. 30th, 2003 06:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormI was hoping last night, when I collapsed into bed at eleven, that I'd be out for a good twelve hours. It was a perfect summer night with air that was velvety and only very very slightly cool; the windows were all wide open and the sound of traffic came in clear as any etching. It was the kind of night where you sprawl in bed and get sucked down into sleep like flying through cool water (no, I do not swim ;) and usually spend some time there to surface hours later with all thirst sated.
Maybe I'm out of practice sleeping. I kept waking up.
I did get to catch the most beautiful sunrise I've seen in at least a year. It was golden apricot and pink, not clouded but a pure brilliant spill of colour across the whole sky. And, now that it's morning, the air is still and again slightly cool and very clear, not velvety and not brisk but shimmery-smooth like expensive satin. The Exotic has connected to the internet and he seems happy to see me and there is music playing in the other room.
I don't only fall in love with people, you know. I fall in love with moments, with days, and with things just as precipitously and completely.
I should probably go back to bed soon. I should probably pack for the weekend away: I need to remember to bring two litres of chocolate syrup, plants, a blanket, clothing... The mornings have always been my time, though, little magic spaces created whole and perfect and sparkling wherin there are no other people, and there is a great deal of serenity and beauty.
Maybe if the nights are always difficult this is the compensation?
I've been reading some Spider Robinson lately. It's really nice stuff, healing and buoyant, even if admittedly the writing itself is sometimes a little strange. I spent a fair amount of time meditating on the concept of God as an iron which will no doubt spill out in due course.
I certainly don't believe it's the world's job to feed people only the kinds of happiness they accept constantly until they die.
Maybe I'm out of practice sleeping. I kept waking up.
I did get to catch the most beautiful sunrise I've seen in at least a year. It was golden apricot and pink, not clouded but a pure brilliant spill of colour across the whole sky. And, now that it's morning, the air is still and again slightly cool and very clear, not velvety and not brisk but shimmery-smooth like expensive satin. The Exotic has connected to the internet and he seems happy to see me and there is music playing in the other room.
I don't only fall in love with people, you know. I fall in love with moments, with days, and with things just as precipitously and completely.
I should probably go back to bed soon. I should probably pack for the weekend away: I need to remember to bring two litres of chocolate syrup, plants, a blanket, clothing... The mornings have always been my time, though, little magic spaces created whole and perfect and sparkling wherin there are no other people, and there is a great deal of serenity and beauty.
Maybe if the nights are always difficult this is the compensation?
I've been reading some Spider Robinson lately. It's really nice stuff, healing and buoyant, even if admittedly the writing itself is sometimes a little strange. I spent a fair amount of time meditating on the concept of God as an iron which will no doubt spill out in due course.
I certainly don't believe it's the world's job to feed people only the kinds of happiness they accept constantly until they die.
