Right now, as I start this entry it is not even 6 am, and I have been up for a couple hours. It is still outside, and in. My thoughts are allowed to take time to form with ease and patience. There is a quiet joy in the morning before I need to face the day, and all of the activities attached to it.
I used to consider myself a “night” person. I would stay up late until 2 or 3am reading or more likely painting. Somehow, over the years, that has shifted so that now I am toast if I stay up past 11. Now I am a morning person. It’s the same quiet: I love being immersed in the silence and serenity of the middle of the dark time, when most everyone is sleeping.
When my children were little I would find myself wandering the halls at all hours seeking some quiet joy with pencil or brush in hand. When my second daughter was born, I set-up my drawing table in the living room of our small home. The kitchen was on one side of the living room and the bedroom and nursery on the other side. I did a series of drawings that year in 1 to 5 minute increments, as I passed through the living room. Stolen moments of quiet joy in the midst of the activities of our home.
