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Rising Early
Copyright © 2006 by The Reverend Ms. Robin F. Gray. All rights reserved. Waking early, too early to rise, I turn left then right following rumbling thoughts that move steadily toward dawn. My mind is a conveyor belt, my worries lumps of dough. Carried by a mechanism over which I have no control a thought arrives demanding attention. Without kneading the yeast will fall. Ideas will flatten and fail. The heft of warm, half-formed thoughts yields to the rhythms of pushing, pulling, slapping, folding... pushing, pulling, slapping, folding. New ideas surface. An old notion becomes elastic. Now I can shape it, braid it, let it rise... watch it roll away, and fumble toward sleep. The conveyor tumbles another weighty sphere of thought into my waiting mind. Now I remember there are lots more where this came from. My mind is a conveyor belt, my worries lumps of dough; the work is just begun. |
