A gray morning. I woke up too early, stumbled through breakfast in a fog, rinsed the dishes then lay back down in bed to “hit the reset button”. I closed my eyes and thought of Lake Michigan. My grandmother owned a cottage on the lake. My childhood summers included a few weeks there each year. My favorite thing about that time was that much of it was unstructured. I could wake up, pull on a sweatshirt, walk barefoot out on the cement porch, let the screen door thwack closed behind me, and be on the beach without a backward glance. Alone on a stretch of sand with the water as still as a bathtub, I could see “sand waves” under the surface and shiny stones just resting there in patient silence. I wanted to be like one of those stones this morning. Still and ancient, reflective.
I thought of a phrase this morning, as I realized what day it was. “March first, ask questions later.” That is not the way I want to live.
Breathe. Be still. Be quiet. Settle like a beach stone. Reflect. Listen to the birds.
How do you post silence? How do you publish peace? How can I share the feeling of vastness that sweeps over me when I look at a calm horizon? If you’ve ever stood in the early light and heard the rushing of your own heartbeat in your ears, you know.
You know and understand.