There’s something about the middle of the night that can really rile up my thoughts.
It’s 3 a.m. My mind is working overtime. I can’t fall back to sleep.
When this happens, I’ll often grab my pillow, then go and sprawl out on the living room couch to see if a new location will help. When that doesn’t work, I come here to my little wooden desk, turn on the white lamp, and write.
Typically, I love this time of year. In a few weeks, I’ll be taking cranberry colored walks and family drives on tree-lined roads. Sampling apples and local honey. Wearing slippers and flannels. Smelling tailgate chili in the crock-pot.
But on this shadowy night, I’m feeling more gravity than release.