a good 24 hours

Most of my life I have had a love affair with the late-day sun, watching it dance on the sheers with the shadows of the leaves against the window, following rays of light from one room to another to see how far the reflections go, and tracing speckles across the bed after a nap. The amber glow puts me in a dream-state until it fades, and I mourn its transition to twilight.

But then, there’s twilight. That fleeting moment when a deep blue hue embraces the atmosphere, drenching the air until fading to indigo. Sometimes the moon rises so bright you can see the green on the trees. And the crickets chirp and the lone mockingbird sings. The cat sees you in the moonlight and winks a wink of mutual understanding that life awakes when the world is asleep.

Cozy in my corner chair, in the dark, listening to the mockingbird play a tune just for me, I write until I feel the magic pass. Then I drift off to sleep in that same lucid dream-state as in the late-day sunny window when the light seeped through the blinds and spilled all over the floor.

With my eyes still closed, I hear lawn mowers and leaf blowers and smell the fresh cut grass of morning. The day ahead brims with potential when no plans are made.

And then the amber light streams through after an adventure found, lulling me back to sleep for a late-afternoon nap.