Often, for me, the wee hours are the productive hours.
The midnight grove where thoughts, inspiration and clarity crop up like so much dense foliage, hosta and lily of the valley, green and verdant, crowding in on each other in the cool damp shade of night. My soul is awake with possibilities, all synapses firing, shooting stars across the projection space of my mind. I should be in bed; I should be "getting enough sleep." But when the babes finally lie still, their heavy little chests rising and falling in the innocence of sleep, their fluttering hands quieted and chattering lips silenced, I revel in the quiet. I cannot succumb to sleep when there is so much to THINK, to write, to create. So I tiptoe to my desk in the darkness, sit under the 3/4 moon keeping me company through the skylight.
And I write.
pic in woods Austria
