Early on a Sunday morning, and she’d had enough of sleep. And so she climbed from the warm bed into the dark and cascaded down the stairs into the quiet house to find words for her tossing in the night.

The month of betrayal had ended, or was almost finished, and a new year had begun. She was nervous to trust people now – new friends, of course, but there had been an old friend, a very long-time person whom she thought she knew in excellent character, and still the betrayal had come.

It was like the darkness all around her – even with the lights on, shadows collected in corners and there were always going to be things she didn’t see.

The year had begun in quiet and she had only two goals: peace and simplicity. The prior year had ended in tumult – like a pinball game of people and work and time and money, all wrapped up in a cyclone-swirl of chaos and disbelief.

And now. She had found love. She had located clarity on a beach in Mexico. She had finally set parameters for her thoughts and her time and she was beginning to step back from telling every story to the world.

She operated now on a need-to-know basis.

In Thomas Lynch’s The Undertaking, he proclaims that all of life revolves around questions of sex and death – the book-end opposites of passion and peace, of beginning and end, of creation and destruction.

She read those words and knew them to be true. And she wondered if the rest of time was filled with attempts to cheat one or find the other?

It was an early Sunday morning and the house was still. She would rush through another day and end with the same kind of quiet. Only she hoped that by day’s end, she would have silenced the echoes in her head and quieted her mind enough to gaze into sleep.


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