The perfect moment

The best part of being an insomniac is the quiet hours. The time when the rest of the world is asleep.

I never used to be a morning person. But now, I'm usually awake before 5:00, sometimes the clock says 4:00 and I'm just there. I've heard that as you get older you need less sleep. Or, I don't know if you need less; maybe your body is telling you that life is running out, and you should be aware of it as much as possible. I'm not that old; hell, I'm not old at all. Maybe someone, or something, is telling me life is running out. Sometimes it feels that way.

This morning, I had enough time before chasing the train to sit for a good half hour and just strum my guitar. I sat on the edge of the couch, just staring out at the foggy morning, and there are times when everything just works, the feeling that the day and this life and me and everything is just in sync for the moment. All the bad is gone, and it's a good feeling to coax pretty sounds from an instrument, or make just the right image with a camera, or, as Hemingway wanted to do, write the perfect sentence. That right combination of words, in the right order, no more, no less, that capture the spirit of something beautiful.

So maybe a half hour is all I'll be blessed with today. If that's it, I guess that's it.