Mornings Post Night Shift

Quiet. 

Not silent.

The day greets me as my polished boots

Make contact with the stiff, frosted grass.

No rays of sun have emerged from their resting place

Behind the blue mountain peaks.

Still.

Not a bird sings. The only noteable movement

Comes from smoke drifting carelessly from chimney tops. 

Is it peace? Is it serenity? 

In my mind, I can only observe the air that sits between houses and landmarks.

Nothing occupies the scene before me but space.

 

Space between the steam of my breath and the glow of light

From the window of a house across the way. 

Space between the cold-hardened rubber soles of my boots

And the welcoming warmth that will soon greet the nearly-numb tips of my fingers.

Space between the detailed conscious realitiy in which I am currently present

And the chugging locomotive that will soon carry my mind to dreamland.

Space between the unrelenting hell that I just endured

And the warm kisses and fur of my best friend who anxiously awaits my return.

 

Quiet.

Not silent.

 

In these moments it seems that the earth turns slower

Than the thoughts and memories in my mind.

I breath in the stillness in desperate hope that it will calm my troubled soul,

If only for a little while.

If only.

If only my mind could match the scene before me 

And become just a little more

Quiet.

◄ I do my best work when I'm cold

The Devil ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message