Each day I wake up, unable to sleep, yet hesitant to leave the warmth, I lay and recall my dreams until I cannot see any more. Shuffling down the hallway, cracks of light escape from beneath a few doors, the rest lie dark and silent. Outside, I step along the balcony to the small room with the large mirror. On my mat I stand, and bend, and lie in awkward positions as my muscles slowly lengthen. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead despite my lack of movement, my breath courses slow and deep through my nose. I am alone, my mind is never silent unless I find it that way, when again it is surprised into thought. Each day is lived as it comes, not necessarily in the moment but without thinking much of the before or after. My forecast is a look out the window, feeling the air on my face. My schedule is always the same; work, ski, at once. When I come here, or to the pages in my journal, my mind wanders, looking at pictures of my own I am taken back, memories and emotions tingle at the base of my spine. Talking with friends, scheming, planning, I look forward and see the future, not as it is or as it will be, but how it exists now in my mind. Ideas are coming to life once more as the sun returns and the reality of melting snow, warm stone, and open roads grows closer. The words are on the tip of my tongue, the spark of creativity once more slowly catching hold of the connections that have been made over the last few months.
A Grand Failure
