(Seems early, but when one falls asleep at 8pm in front of the tube, it actually makes for a rather full night's sleep.)
So, I've written in my journal, and am surfing around the interwebs to see what I missed from last evening.
And I found this.
I would think that, being on that canoe would be a little like being smack dab in the middle of a phenomenal orchestra playing an epic new work...listening to things swirl all around you, not knowing where the harmonic structure was going to go, how things would be voiced, but just being awed and surprised and delighted at the inventive newness, the constant change, the fleeting, ephemeral moment.
Since I can't have my very own orchestra and my very own premiere this dark December morning? I'll daydream about a canoe, a good camera, and easy access to some remote place. I'll walk the dog by the creek and hope to catch a glimpse of the blue heron or the ring-tailed hawk that shelter there. And I'll take comfort in the fact that there are patterns and ensembles that I cannot see or hear, but that are making beautiful music nonetheless.
- Coffee. (The caffeine is key, of course, but the ritual is as important.)
- Sufficient sleep. It seems to make a world of difference.
- Lights. The early darkness is much more festive with a little sparkle!
- Clementines. Palm-sized sunshine.