At the end of the evening—usually the beginning of a new day, I reluctantly give in to sleep. Rarely in bed before my husband, I love turning off the television or computer and simply standing in the center of the room listening to the noise of the stillness. No one is fussing in the kitchen, the cat is asleep somewhere, the dog is on the bed with my husband impatiently awaiting my arrival. The sensation of quiet is palpable as I hold myself still in the darkness. I feel wrapped against the night and force myself to move toward the bedroom with anticipation for that feeling of body between the sheets. I gently nudge the dog to make room for me, moving against the contours of my husband. Then comes that blissful release from the exertion of holding up my skeleton. Ahhh, peace.
Monday, January 30, 2012
The Noise of Stillness
At the end of the evening—usually the beginning of a new day, I reluctantly give in to sleep. Rarely in bed before my husband, I love turning off the television or computer and simply standing in the center of the room listening to the noise of the stillness. No one is fussing in the kitchen, the cat is asleep somewhere, the dog is on the bed with my husband impatiently awaiting my arrival. The sensation of quiet is palpable as I hold myself still in the darkness. I feel wrapped against the night and force myself to move toward the bedroom with anticipation for that feeling of body between the sheets. I gently nudge the dog to make room for me, moving against the contours of my husband. Then comes that blissful release from the exertion of holding up my skeleton. Ahhh, peace.
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