End of January

 

We lost power very early this very cold morning. The coldest of the year. It always surprises me that the complete absence of sound can be so sonorous. I was woken by the silence. I forced myself out from under my layers of flannel and down to take a look at the street. It was black. We weren't alone. There is comfort in that.

I notified the electric company and tried to get back to sleep, but it was too quiet. Then Mike's phone sounded an alert. I didn't know until morning that a cop shooter was on the loose. This year is starting out with record violence and it's been so cold. Bitter temps are usually a deterrent. I shake my head in disbelief and disgust at this world we are living in. And yet I keep going day after day.

I've noticed that the light is lingering at the end of the day. The minutes have lazily added up to an extra hour and it's suddenly apparent. So much of life is lived in this liminal space. Slowly and then all at once we notice the change. A slight shift becomes a transformation, a subtle variation a reconstruction. I wonder what it would be like to experience all of life through a time lapse lens. So much is imperceptible to the human eye. We simply miss it.

I don't know if it's my age or my stage, but I am feeling the tenuousness of time more than usual. That's a lot because I'm always aware of its fast, fleeting nature. It's my intention to live all the days of my life. That doesn't mean doing big things and reaching lofty goals day in and day out. It means being present. Prescient. Purposeful. Prone.

I've long said that the little things matter big. Just like the minutes of expanding daylight, the small acts that make up our days, well, they make up our lives.