pale twilight

[chelidon]

Despite the fact that my in-laws, who arrived at the Casa yesterday, immediately volunteered, bless their hearts, to take the 3am and 7am administering of my son's meds (leaving me with just the 11pm and 1am night-time slots), I find myself up all night again. Partially, there's a huge amount of backlogged work I need to get done asap (one of the inevitable elements of self-employment is no paid vacation time, and this past week or two has been chaotic, to say the least). And, partially, I'm just sitting here, about 10 feet from where my son is sleeping, watching over him and making sure he's okay, and that someone is up and available close at hand if he wakes up in pain, or needs someone. I'll plan to get plenty of rest this weekend, but this is, after all, only his second night home from the hospital, and I'm still in crisis-mode, still watchful, still on guard.

Being a night-owl, I rarely see the early pre-dawn hours, and they do have their own special beauty, pale and monochromatic as a moonlit night -- the light slowly, patiently growing, diffuse and wan, the half-seen world outside slowly taking shape and form through my office windows and skylights. I crack a closed window, and along with lush woodland smells, a delicious coolness wafts in -- it's 60 degrees outside and I'm just in comfy pajama pants. I listen to the sounds of the stream, and the wind, and cacophony of birdcall through the trees, and welcome, with them, the approaching dawn.