The quiet, calm of the early morning hours is precious. Looking up, through the window, toward the heavens, the sky is gray. It is late November; soon the land will be held captive in the icy grip of winter. Thick clouds blanket the sky, their coverlet, absolute. Winter is coming; there can be no doubt. Unexpected patches of white dot through the gray sky, as if someone randomly patched cotton balls into the gauzy, grayed clouds above. The sky like a paint box, white shades muddied and grayed by the black that mixes through. Aging November.
Still, it is beautiful, even melancholy, in the darkened hours of the morning. The stillness is comforting; there are no disagreements to voice, no pressing needs to plan around, it is the perfect time to be alone with one’s thoughts, to dream, to plan, and to remember. When the children were babes, this small slice of morning was coveted time, rising early to prepare for the onslaught of the day, savoring the quiet stillness before the day unfurled. There was breakfast, daycare, school, work, meetings, groceries to pick up, dinner to make, and homework to oversee. There were baths and bedtime; there was never enough time. Always wishing for some time to be still. Now there is enough time, the children have grown and life unrolls for them. One sits in the quiet stillness and wishes for their chaotic return. Bittersweet November.
There is a peaceful calm in the early morning. The gray clouds begin to lift, patches of light peek through, unwrapping a blue-gray day, an unexpected gift from the universe for you. Something given. How will you use this gift? Whom will you share it with? Perhaps, the day will be yours to shape alone. Beautiful November.