written during a very quiet december weekday when i happened to be home alone. 

almost four pm and it’s silent, except for the sound of the cars, the sound of the occasional hardy bird, and the sound of my fingers clicking and making words. i’ve got tea and warm light at my desk. it’s the last day before i leave my hermit-nest to go back to my real world, which involves commutes and offices and clothes that are not yoga pants. it’s been peaceful and calm and restful and actually rejuvenating. this is rare, for me.

left to my own devices i become highly nocturnal – i have always been this way, despite my mother’s hopes otherwise. give me two or three days off and i’m up til three or four am researching, planning, doing, shining. so i don’t get up until late morning and i don’t hit my stride until late afternoon and it is just about now when i decide to breathe.

i may have talked about it before, but there is something about winterlight that pierces me right through. in my world fall is a buildup, spring is a coming down, and winter, when these days are short and their light is thin and the shadows are everywhere, this is my peak. it is the way the world looks, filtered, that makes the most sense. the sharpness of the air and the silencing of snow are bonuses – it is the light that draws me in, every time, and puts me right at home.

peace. peace is a thing i’m thinking long and hard about these days, what it means, how i go about getting some. how i let go of all of the things standing in the way. how, a long, long time ago i explained that i never wanted happiness but i did want peace. and it’s not at all a natural thing for me – typically, i am a roiling and full person, i am overflowing, i am gigantic in my feelings and my words and my actions, but that spans both sides of the spectrum, from my joys to my sadnesses. and sometimes, i know i have to figure out how to tone it down, because it wears a girl out, and i wear out quickly.