Saturday, September 12, 2009

I'm sitting in the dark...

I’m sitting in the dark, hidden from view by a stone wall and a stack of canning supplies on a table next to me. It’s evening, but already growing dark early, as Fall begins to tell us of coming winter.

This sitting in the dark during the evening, outside on my patio, is something I did every evening the first summer I moved here, into this place I live now.

The anonymity and invisibility was like a fox’s cloak as she makes her way through the twilight hours. To look and not be looked at, to search unseen, is a marvelous thing sometimes.

So it sit here writing, some dappled light through leaves from a streetlight nearby, and listen to the night sounds around me. Crickets are still grinding away, and children’s voices in the rear of apartments nearby speak of preparing for bed on a school night.

I no longer have those chores. I no longer have those exact schedules. I will see clients and record my readings, but usually I can be as flexible with schedules as they need to be.

I’m letting the dark envelope me, hearing snatches of sentences as walkers pass my place, their animals leashed, on their way through my neighborhood. I observe unseen.

This dark, tonight, is comforting, relaxing out the day’s busyness in the still 80 degree sunlight of doing. This dark invites me to sit back, breathe out, and let my body nod off if it needs to, lay its head back against the wicker chair and dream early evening dreams with no goals in mind.

I am alone with myself, but not within the confines of walls.

Yet here I am in a private moment in time on a fast-approaching Fall night. Lucky me, is what I think as I bring my pen to a stop and just be.


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