I fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep at five last night - spent from a week of teaching - and awoke at eight this morning; a long sleep to be sure, but these come too infrequently to forgo. And I am not a morning person. Waking up and getting up are two separate and unique experiences. Plus, the comfort of warmth, buried beneath a pile of blankets in winter is nearly always greater than my desire to experience a new day. That held true today. So I lay and contemplated the world: its sublime beauty, my place in it, what tomorrow holds for both of us. It was the kind of morning, with azure late-dawn skies and a brilliant light penetrating the darkest reaches of my house that begged to be considered, to be embraced.
The skies had cried for the balance of the last two days and fundamentally transformed the view from my perch in the loft to which I retire each night. The dark, dull green Ponderosa Pines had transformed to vibrant, shimmering towers of life. Needles sparkled with radiance as the sun reflected off the droplets that hung heavy of their own weight. The trunks had transformed from a light brown, the color of coffee heavy with cream, to a hue more akin to straight black joe. And even through the walls and windows, birds could be heard singing songs of merriment and plenty. It was a morning that begged that I pull away the comfort of my covers and immerse myself in wonder.
I arose slowly, the cobwebs still thick. Gingerly, I walked to the closet to pull up my long johns and pull over my warmest hoody so I could be at one with the morning quietude. My heart rate bumped up a few notches with the thought of walking outside merely to enjoy the morning instead of my normal routine of trudging to my car on the way to work, no time to enjoy the morning that begs my presence and appreciation. Today, my first day of Christmas break, I found myself blessed to walk into the morning with no rush, no agenda, only a yearning to explore the murmurs of the Earth. I slipped on my right, then left shoe and opened the door to a different world.
My senses were assaulted with the magnificence of an Arizona mountain morning: scents so sweet, so fresh, so lovely; a wondrous cacophany of bird songs and the water's babbling; the cool, almost cold air caressing my skin; the perfection of tall, satisfied pine trees so alive, seemingly so happy to be alive.
And the forest's animal denizens all working busily to take best advantage of this brief moment in time. Abert's squirrels running frantically along the earth's floor and through the trees - trees with tendrils of of steam rising into the air, the results of sublimation temporarily making them appear to be ghosts from a dream. Birds of every feather singing a dissonant, lovely chorale. As I soak this in, to my right the sounds of twigs cracking causes me to turn my attention. Through a thicket of scrub oak emerges a mule deer, impressive antlers betraying that he has seen many days not unlike this one. He walks slowly, tentatively, measuring each step with the sounds that it makes, conscious to be as be as much like a wraith as his size will afford. His coat is a brown-grey which would normally camouflage him well, but today the earth is awash in bright greens and dark browns which are not helping his natural disguise. He is so busy being quiet that he fails to notice that I am a mere twenty feet away.
On this day, my breakfast is the sublime beauty of the morning. I eat it up and feel sated, my thirst for peace slaked.
It is too infrequent that I am able to enjoy the murmurs of the earth, but today we merge to become one. And it is wondrous. And I thank God that I am alive.
Merry Christmas to all.
12/23/2016
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