a story of sleep and life.

i lie half awake in the cool darkness, hoping that by keeping my eyelids sealed shut i will fool my body with a few more minutes of sleep before my clock starts beeping.

it might be a defense mechanism, my subconscious aware that morning is near and that i'd-better-not-be-late.

i'd rather see it as a small mark of grace, an easing into the day without the harsh tones of my alarm breaking into deep dreams. it has always been one of my favorite times--that gray space between sleep and not-quite-waking. it is quiet there, where all i know is my breath and the stillness of the world around me.

i'm not sure if my love of it over-rides the innate desire for just a few more minutes.

i've been thinking a lot about transitions lately, of acknowledging them, easing them. of the leaving behind and the inviting in.

this tiny picture of it at the start of my day--this small space between dreaming and beginning--brings the reminder that the transition doesn't always play out like a drama. sometimes it simply the slipping of dusk into dawn, the stream into its river.

and courage doesn't always roar. sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "i will do it again tomorrow." (paraphrased from mary anne radmacher)