“Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.”
~ Francis Bacon
It’s delicious. The early morning silence in which we sip our coffee, read our books, and I tap out words, wraps around me like a worn and familiar quilt that I’ve pulled from a trunk for use in the dark months.
There is no lament for the passing of bright mornings when the sun shone bright and the hummingbirds flitted near the open door. There is only deep appreciation for the now, and the comfort of dark and quiet mornings when stillness falls in a different way.
I am reminded that it is not external things that bring me peace. Nor is it something I conjure from within; because I am weak, and any powers I might come to believe that I command would be fleeting and fallible as my changing mood.
The contentment I feel as I lift a mug of soy milk frothy coffee to my lips is a gift from God; it is not dependent on the season or anything else. My heart whispers thanks, gratitude wraps around me, and the day gently begins.
I write in silence, and sometimes I get sleepy.
Ah, gratitude, such a gift!