Sometimes it feels like that though time passes, it doesn’t actually get anywhere.
It has been a lot like that this week. But somehow, I am home. Work is finished for the week, my assignments are handed in. University break is in front of me. Nothing, currently, is demanding my attention but my stories.
At points I have wondered if this moment would ever actually arrive. Sometimes I feared it would hide, let itself be replaced instead by moments brash with busyness, demanding that my tired brain continue to work without break.
Despite my tired words however, this week has had its brilliance.
See, I love my job, and the people that come with it. I love the early morning walks with cold as my companion, even if it tries to slip its arms around me when I’m quite happily tucked up and warm in my jacket. I love the river sliding along under me, yet somehow seemingly so still. Sometimes it is wrapped up like I am, with its scarf of fog. Other times it lays itself bare and the world is reflected in it, an oil painting that uses the river’s skin as its canvas.
Waking early may not be pleasant, but dawn is well worth those first few bitter moments of leaving sleep, and of swinging legs out into cold air.
However tomorrow morning I will sacrifice the freshness of dawn for rest. When I wake I will pull my covers closer, only braving the air outside them in order to find my pen or my books, whichever my hand encounters first.
Because tomorrow I rest. Tomorrow I bathe myself in reading and writing, and all things beautiful, till my mind is washed clean of the sour taint of stress. And when I finally emerge from the nest of my bed? I will do so gladly, the world golden from the start and not just when my mind cannot argue against its beauty any longer.
So I write this post, and let my body ease back into softness so that sleep can find me.
And then finally, rest.