I have been sitting at my desk in the early morning, actually until this very moment, the moment I begin writing, pre-dawn light. There is enough light behind me that I can see my computer, see my coffee cup, and items on my desk. This has been a calming and reflective time.
I've been struggling with the day ahead and the blog post I haven't written, struggling with the frustration of not writing. Yesterday was supposed to be a day to write, but it didn't turn out that way. Instead yesterday was a day of phone calls and interruptions, and periods of mental stress and turmoil but also periods of insight and restoration, so not at all a bad day. It was simply a day that was too scattered to give birth to the words I was seeking.
And yet, yesterday was exactly as it should be. And today? I don't know about today. There are things I am looking forward to today, and things I most definitely am not, but at least the good things are timed well, as a reward. And I suspect that it too will end up being exactly the day it should have been, if I am willing to accept its flow.
I looked up from my desk, the light behind me, the hall with its rather mundane view of laundry room and small print made by a friend and artist from our former home, and this snapshot was born. I looked up and this post was born. How apropos of today's mood. Did I anticipate this when I arranged my desk, when I hung this print? Every new day is like looking through a doorway in the half-light. Every day there are choices to be made, obligations to be met, the world looming large. And yet there is also time for art, for reflection, for whatever it is that nourishes us. Perhaps some days the obligations seem to dominate, perhaps to overwhelm. But even then we don't lose the spirit, even when it slides into half-light and shadow. It is all in the angle of perception. Its time will come as long as the door is open.