It’s 2:22 a.m. on Thursday morning. I fell asleep at 9 p.m. and woke at midnight. Since then, I’ve been reading “The Golem and the Jinni” and trying to fall back to sleep. But there’s too much weirdness in the air–our routines are off because of the ice storm. I think my brain has tried to do so much prepping and planning for a crisis that hasn’t happened that I can’t turn it off now. So let’s roll with it.
If I’m up at 2:22 a.m., might as well see that phase of the day that I usually miss. I tried to get Huck to go out in the front yard with me, but he knows he’s not supposed to be out there without a leash. I stood in the shelter of the garage while he waited nervously by the kitchen door. The city is a pink glow behind the pines at this hour.
We went to the deck and he hurtled down the stairs and into the bright night. It’s strange to hear the crunch of his steps. I’ll try to remember that. Smoke drifts from my new neighbor’s chimney. I haven’t been over to say hello yet, but I enjoy the smell of his wood fires. Oops–there’s Vivi’s jacket that I hung out here to dry the other day–frozen solid. I prop it against the wall for her to see in the morning. The bird feeders need filling again. I wonder where all those birds sleep.
It’s so quiet that I can hear the river. It truly does whisper.
One snowflake drifts down onto my cheek and I’m sure it’s a hello.
Huck is watching me from his crate, a white dog on a white cushion in a white world. Nose as black as a polar bear’s and a pair of sleepy eyes. But he’ll stay up with me if I need him.
But maybe it’s time to sleep. Maybe some writing was what I needed to turn off my brain. To find rest.
Good night. Good morning. Good day.