I try to start my writing days with a few minutes just sitting quietly. This morning the birds are out in full force, and they’re louder than the traffic going by. While I’m usually ready and willing to work on my writing, whether it’s editing or creating, today I just want to sit here and listen to the birds.
There’s something calming about watching them flit from limb to limb, and there’s something peaceful about the clouds hiding and revealing the sun. It reminds me of earlier days when there wasn’t quite so much to get done and of a time when the whole world was open before me. It reminds me of dreams I held as a child and all the things I wanted to do with my life, things that are no longer possible, and I wonder how many others work day after day knowing the dreams that meant the most of them are gone in the wakefulness of everyday life. Do we ever get those dreams back? Do we ever have the courage to truly reach for them? Or are we caught up in a world of responsibility and practicality that allows for nothing more?