The sound of silence

It is eleven o’clock. Everyone else in the house is already asleep and the house is quiet. It is so tempting for me to stay up. I want to revel in the fact that for the next eight hours no one will be asking me to do anything. No one will call on the phone, or ask me to pour milk, or need me to find something. I can just sit and listen to the sound of silence. I can hear my own thoughts. I can compose words without interruption.

Unfortunately 6:20 am will come at the same time whether or not I’ve slept. Tomorrow will arrive and it will have demands upon me. I will be much better equipped to meet those demands if I’ve had a full night’s sleep. So I should go to bed. I really should. But instead I stand at the window. I stare out into the darkness and wonder if we will get snow tonight. I’m not ready for snow. I want more sunshine. The house is already chilly, so I head toward my bed. But then words collect together in my brain. They come together and crystallize, much as molecules of moisture freeze together in the million beautiful patterns of snowflakes. The words are there. If I crawl into that warm bed, they will melt away.

I step lightly down to my office and I type. I type and capture the words. I pin them to the page so that they will retain their shape. When I am done, I will go sleep.