"mine is the night, with all her stars -- edward young.
i remain in awe of the night. there's something about being awake when everyone around you is sleeping; it somehow manages you make you feel both larger and smaller - and maybe a little like a spy.
i love the mornings. i feel most professionally productive after 4 p.m. i'm relatively useless between the hours of 7 p.m. and 10 p.m. but once everyone else starts settling in with pajamas, bedtime prayers, books in bed & goodnight kisses - i start settling in to me.
it's when the words start coming again - haltingly, tentative & a little shy, like they're not quite sure they're welcome anymore. they've been in hermitage, much like the person they belong to, but i think they're ready for a new season.
so while they're pushing through the new earth, i leave you with this:
"outside my head, i cast a shadow.
i'm not someone who's seen this side of me,
but it drifts across the ground so down i look.
i could spend my time wondering who i was.
and i could count the times that i had lost or won.
And i could turn toward you and ask you what you saw.
but what do these feelings mean ..."
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