I rise early in the morning with the sound of a coffee pot and two dogs breathing heavily as they enter in and out of dreams. I tiptoe through my kitchen as the morning birds’ dip and sway beside the window. I look at them and wonder what it is like to have wings.
I grew up dreading the quiet of early morning hours. I hated the loneliness that sunk into my body knowing I was the only one wandering the house at daybreak. If I witnessed the clock before 7am, it gave me a reason to believe I was the only human left in the world. The feeling lasted only a few hours until others awoke and life crept back into the floorboards.
As seasons quickly change, I have changed too. Instead of fearing the quiet hours of my day, I send them invitations and hope they'll visit often. I dream of rooms so quiet that my own thoughts sound like conversations, the kind of rooms you can only find when nobody else is around. In this house of ours, we have 6 inhabitants; when somebody is silent, another is noisy. Sometimes it is hard to find the quiet mornings I used to dread, but when they finally do appear, I listen for the sound of solitude and I don't confuse it for loneliness anymore.
Yesterday, we went for a wander through our neighborhood. At a slow pace, we looked up and saw how all the trees had little green buds racing towards the sun. We stopped to watch two dabbling ducks swim across the creek and it made me feel glad for springtime. After the show, we climbed a steep hill and as we approached the summit, a wide-eyed lilac flower looked back at us. The flower was growing between pebble and grass, as if it had always been there. I thought to myself: "How did I survive a cold winter without you?" Now we can finally replace our plastic flowers with real ones!
Pink Vintage Lingerie – Thrifted at the Goodwill
Boots – Value Village