I am the only one awake. Rain falls outside the window on a world not winter, not spring, a landscape that ought to be white this time of year but isn’t. Bleak, nondescript sky, fawn colored grass, even the evergreens look subdued and tired. But on both window sills a splash of color – yellow daisies.  Flames crackle and dance in the wood stove, warming the morning chill, toasting my bare feet.

If I listen, the clamor in my brain tells me I should be writing, I should be journaling, I should be cutting every last word I wrote yesterday from the work in progress and sending it where the sun don’t shine. I should be cleaning, I should be looking at taxes, I should be making something special for breakfast because it is, after all, Valentine’s Day, and how selfish am I that I didn’t buy everybody something?

In my head, plot points and characters swirl amid the noise of the real life demands. I am, I think, waiting for a moment of clarity, but I’m not sure that it will come to me. I would like to believe that if I sit here long enough, all of a sudden there will be a moment of angel song and all of the pieces will fall into place. I know better. Before anything happens, before anything is done, I will have to make decisions and take action. Some of my decisions will be good, and some I will regret.

Any moment now, somebody will get up and the silence will be shattered. Real life demands will present themselves, shaping the day, pushing me into action or reaction.

But at the center of all of that noise, all of the conflicting directives and the guilt of the done and undone, I may linger for this moment for no other reason than because I choose.

And in this moment, I am at peace.