There is new space across my balcony, no longer filled with the reaching branches of dead pines. Instead I see a line of saplings, some getting quite tall. Well, really, two or three lines of these various trees; cedars, firs, and even a couple of daring pines. The heavy wind this morning rustled along these trees, making it seem a vertical ocean of green, ripples and waves forming in the wind, reaching upwards rather than across.
The bright sun which reflected into my eyes has been hidden by clouds now, white rushing across the blue.
I’ve developed a bad habit. I am going to bed much later than I should, which means I wake up much later than I want. At this point in the day I want to have significant areas of writing done, for the morning is my time of creativity.
There are aspects of staying up I like, for there really is no quieter time than past dark in the mountains. Only I am groggy and unfocused, not at my peak. I’m going to have to change my schedule and force myself into bed at a decent hour.
I woke up with a sense of how much a wider world we live in. The feelings of last night still resonate, with my impression as I fell asleep being how much is going on, how active the world around us really is in a myriad of ways.
In my peace there was much I felt that was not peace. A war rages, and we fight what we cannot see.
At times that is comforting, at times that is frustrating.