Thoughts on a New Day

            The soft, red glow of the clock reveals the time to be 3:30 a.m.  Another hour has passed since first I awakened with thoughts worth thinking about, trapped inside a body that was contentedly avowed to stay a little longer in bed.  The distant hum of the fan beside my bed, the warm back of my husband pressed lightly against my own, the cool touch of the sheet and quilt as they drape themselves  against the contours of my body, all join together to lull me into contentment, and to return to the bliss of sleep…but I cannot.   There is no worry here, nor troubled thoughts, nor stress of deadlines.  I lie here contemplating the birds I have observed throughout the day – yesterday.  I think of the Sparrow that is fallen, of the black birds who have chosen to nest and raise a family in our guttering, and of the Blue jays chasing about in my back yard.  I recall the Cardinals squawking and fluttering about the bird feeder all in a dither to be the only one at the feeding station.  I think how like God to reveal life-lessons to us by recording stories of birds in the Bible.  I wonder if I’m absorbing all I need from the lessons I see as I watch their behavior.

            I think about all of the progress of science and technology, and wonder why I can’t have access to an electrode, attach it to my head, press a button, “download” and have an instant hard-copy in manuscript form of the thoughts I’ve just thought about all.  I then think how bizarre a world it would be if such a contraption did exist.

            Another chunk of time passes as I lie contentedly, contemplating, making mental stabs how to record all these thoughts.  My mind is racing – like I’m running out of time. It is now almost daybreak and I can no longer restrain myself from getting some of these rampant thoughts into hard copy.

            Why do I write?  Why have I had to write since I was very young?  When did I first feel the need to write?  Was it because I had the need to communicate?  Were there things which were bottled up inside my soul which I felt compelled to express in words? Is this why a musician sings?  An artist paints?  A preacher speaks? A dancer, dances?

            It’s dawn, and the birds outside my window are the first to herald its coming. Somehow I feel satisfaction that I have shared these moments with them. I am exultant that I found the courage to remove my head from the cool, softness of my pillow long enough to “download” my initial thoughts.  Today as I experience the adventures the new day may bring my way, I will color them with the shapes, hues, and musings this early morning has brought.  But for now, I think I’ll crawl back into my inviting bed and await the sound of the alarm to mark the official beginning time.


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