It is dark outside, and I am thinking.
The grain of wood beneath the palms of my hands is comforting. They rest on the edge of my desk as my fingers are arched upward and hover the keys of the key board, fingertips intermittently striking downward as I compose those thoughts.
I am writing.
I am writing about a moment in time.
It is morning, 5:45.
I have been awake for hours.
It is dark outside.
I sweetened my coffee with brown sugar.
I am preparing to leave for work, not actually preparing, but mentally. Soon I will get up from this chair, get dressed and go, but that is not this moment.
In this moment I am thinking.
Awake, and the world is turning on its axis…as usual.