I arranged the white down comforter until it was just right. And then I snuggled in, ready to put the day to bed.
The house had relaxed into its nighttime ritual, settling into its bones. Its creaks and groans somehow louder in the dark.
This was my favorite time. After the blanket of darkness descended and the business of life slowed.
This was my time to think. Somehow evening invited reflection and end of the day inventory. And the truths that were buried by the day’s distractions emerged into the stillness.
Do you ever feel the need to assign meaning to the day so that it does not slip unnoticed into just another week and then month and then year? So that when you look back it is not a blur of sameness?