January 9th, 2011


peace of morning

Last night, I walked home from a party at 4am, a time that I'm rarely out and about in the world, and almost never happy about it when I am. But last night, it was one of the most perfect hours of recent memory.

I stepped out of the party into the fresh, cool, quiet air, and, of course, no one much was out and about. There was an inch of fluffy snow on the sidewalk, and big, soft flakes drifting lazily down from the sky. Between the lack of people and cars and the muffling blanket of snow, the city was as quiet as it ever is, and the light of the streetlamps was like magic.

I took the long way home, strolling through the neighborhoods, my footsteps silent on the blanket of snow, and loud when I walked where it had melted. I was reminded how much I love myself, and being myself, when I am doing nothing but being.

It was perfect.