October 24, 2013


it's a few minutes past seven in the morning and my husband has been up since before six, in his studio, playing his piano. i re-made a pot of french press, and the air around me is dark and glowing and cold ~ simply, without a doubt, fall.

this time is sacred because it is yearned for so deeply. just an hour in the quiet morning, where we are bare and whole. when it's too early to be anywhere.

when there are no texts, no screens lighting up, no knocks on the door, no bright sun that compels us to move. where movement is slow and heavy and raw.

when we are more than just machines, endless and free.