The light is soft and kind today, and I can feel it gently waking me up, shaking me from a long held stupor. The harsh light of summer throws the most violent shadows to which I am wholly susceptible - a kind of inverse seasonal affective disorder - and so my mind and its errant thoughts have been neatly boxed up and placed on the highest shelf to keep it safe from the darkness.
But this light and this day? This autumn-is-almost-here, cloudy-days-ahead, cool-and-calm-and-quiet kind of light? This not-for-another-four-years, anything-can-happen-if-you-let-it, gift-to-be-treasured kind of a day?
Together they have me reaching for the the step stool and wiping away the dust accumulated over a long, hot season. It is a slow start but a start all the same and I am ready for it. Thoughts are ready to see the light of day again, words are ready to find the page again.
I am ready to open the box.
I am ready to be awake.