Finding joy · Love · Port Townsend · Winter

The Quiet Hours

After a holiday season full of activity, I am relishing these few quiet days. I’ve been wondering what word might emerge for me for the coming year and it began to come into focus this morning. This one seemed to choose me, rather than the opposite. I’ll ruminate on it awhile and see how it fits with my New Years tarot spread. Onward we go ..
A quick trip to Port Townsend proved to be good for the soul. There are two kinds of roadtrips: solo and with others. Kelly and I have managed to do pretty well with compromise on our shared journeys. She finds the good eats and I navigate (not by map, but by chasing whatever is happening in the sky). When I’m alone, I follow my heart and eye down interesting roads in unfamiliar places, often forgetting the food part (it’s how I discover places like Egg and I road). Company brings me balance.
Past the Narrows Bridge the sky seems to change. Closer to the Peninsula, it changes more, opening up the sky like wings. Thursday was spectacular ! The clouds were an ever-shifting pattern of black and gray and white. The sky was “love in a mist” blue and was the perfect backdrop to this cover of clouds. My kind of day for sure.

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I’ve become obsessed with the sky. Clouds, sunrise, civil twilight … sunset, lightning, lenticular clouds. I have promised myself to better understand the moon this coming year too.
The quiet I have craved has been so that I might find a place to gather my grief. So much happened this fall and so little time to just sit with it. As I fumbled through boxes in my art room I came upon photos and other artifacts of days gone by. This morning I happened upon a Facebook memory of two years ago with Jen. I need to absorb these losses because I believe that the sharp edges of grief are what soften us. Like waves over stone and glass.

Time, the great healer.
As I sit here this morning I stare at the print on my mantle. Birches by John Ebner. It’s one of my favorites. White bark, remnants of fall color and snow. It is my happy place on winter mornings. I follow each brush stroke, imagine footprints in the squeaky snow. I can almost feel the rush of cold air in my lungs. There is something calming about that scene. The light, the quiet, the brilliant color.

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I’ve put the world on pause this morning. My two kids sprawled by the fire, Kelly still sleeping, the day ahead still a question mark (as they all are really). There is some order to restore in my spaces and some writing to finish. The day is like an empty pocket. One more cup of coffee and I promise I’ll abandon this perfect spot on the chair, this view of my real life.
I’ll go slow with this cup …

 
” Everyone is in the best seat ”

-John Cage

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4 thoughts on “The Quiet Hours

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