Piles, clean desk & a restless sleep.

Piles of papers, receipts, store clothing tags, earrings, a dollar bill, old bills, new bills, rubber bands, small books, a compact camera in a baggie, a hairbrush, dust—all of these things were becoming too much. I have gotten behind in sorting through the desk where the computer stands that I used to sit at and type into. Lately, I’ve been using my laptop, away from the desk. I didn’t plan on writing anything this morning. I put most of the odds and ends into a large bag to sort through later. I’m able to sit here now and I must say it’s a nice change to be able to sit with my legs crossed under each other in the chair. My joints feel as though they’ve been oiled. For a long time I couldn’t bend one of my knees under, but for several weeks, it’s been easier, less of a crunching sound. I love the light in here, in the bedroom, where the miniature desk sits as I type and hear the man blowing leaves outside and the NovaLatino CD streaming “Latino moods and Brazilian beats” out from the living room, reaching back to me. I can see the brightness of the sun on my screen from the window and my cup of tea sits there at my left waiting to be finished.

Yesterday I felt a little more tired than usual. This often happens by Thursday. I think it’s more mental tiredness than anything. I went and laid down early—about 8:30 p.m. and slept until about midnight. Since I slept for a good chunk of the early part of the night, I had trouble sleeping during the later part of the night. I looked at the clock: 1:36 a.m. I just sat there, enjoying the silence. I could hear the non-sound of outside because no cars were passing, no man blowing his leaf blower, no birds—and where do the birds go at night to sleep? But then I heard off in the distance a flock or maybe it was a pair—Canadian Geese. Ah, how lovely, I thought. Black webbed feet holding up a rotund bunch of light mocha and cream feathers, attached by the most slender and graceful black neck. Oh how I would enjoy watching them and feeding them at the park as a child and also as an early adult. I was surprised to hear them at these wee hours, but then again, perhaps they like to travel at early morning hours too.

Sheep. 1…2….3.  A yawn. 4…I reached 10 and counted beyond that, but I don’t know that it put me to sleep. I did feel more soothed. Next time I woke up and looked at the clock it was about 3:30 a.m. or thereabouts. The moon had come around again, bright and large. I perched up and looked outside. The clouds! Amazing puzzle pieces—illuminated puzzle pieces against a midnight blue aglow that made me think of the classical piece by Erik Satie, Gymnopopedie No. I. I cannot tell you why—only that it is a feeling. Even though this piece has a melancholy feel to it, at the same time, it is both peaceful and feels filled with imagination. This image—of those clouds—illuminated puzzle pieces, dancing with the moon—it was the highlight of my restless evening and when I did look out in amazement, the first words from my mouth were an ever so quiet, w-o-w. I felt like a child looking at the night sky for the first time. Careful not to make too much noise, I tucked myself back into bed and slept soundly through the morning.

Gymnopedie No. I

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Xe2Rft62Kg

Three Moons

I woke in the middle of the night to the brightest presence staring back at me. I sleep on the window side and I hoisted myself up on the window sill to steady myself. The full moon was brilliant; it angled toward the window giving the appearance of three moons telescoping out—as though it had two shadows. I kept looking and tilting my head from left to right and back again. Sleepy and drunk at the sight of the moon(s), I wondered, could I really be seeing three moons? I must have caused a stir because my significant other pushed himself up from his deep sleep.

“What are you looking at,” he said, sounding a little groggy.

“The moon looks like it has two shadows,” I replied earnestly.

“Oh…I thought someone was looking inside the window.”

“Someone is—it's the moon.” I gave a small giggle. He gave a friendly grumble, got up to use the bathroom. While he was in there, I scooted over quickly to look out the screen side of the open window and saw my one moon.

We went back to sleep with no words, just the bright light of the moon keeping us safe.  But really, I knew it was three moons.

The Sound of Wings

A weary beginning to the day. Not a too sound night. Asleep with a low lamp on. Woken by the sound of a clickity-buzz and then a soft landing right next to my ear. I quickly sit up, look to find a cricket that managed to miss my head by millimeters. He flew into the pillow beside me and was nestled inside, right at the edge. In swift fashion, I get up to grab my glass and small book. Scoot—in he goes. I set the glass covered with the book on top on the kitchen counter until morning to release him.

I’ve grown accustomed to the sound the spider makes when he sometimes jumps down upon the chest of drawers or some other hard surface. And I’ve grown accustomed to look for him in the crevices he likes to wedge himself into and sometimes when I wake in the night, I look to make sure he’s not above me. I prefer when he’s not above me, prefer when he’s in his corner. This one in particular, is too hard to capture because he stays up high, and when he comes down the wall, he’s quick. Always, if I can, I take spiders outside. One day recently though, he or she was much too large for me to handle and I had to do what I didn’t want to do. I wrote about the experience in my notebook. I still feel traumatized by the whole thing and I suppose it is still filtering out of my system.

I much prefer the sound of a million wings flying through the sky…