The room feels melancholy as I sit here watching the sky turn darker and colder as the evening approaches. The trees are still naked, bearing their soul to the crisp, February evening. The snow is casually melting and dirty from the traffic that is continuously moving by. People are strolling about in the park, donned with their gloves and winter gear, enjoying the rare warmth that today brought in the midst of an ice-cold winter.
The living room is quiet—almost eerily so— with the exception of the baby monitor and the Roomba humming about in the background. The big kids are out back, playing in the muddy puddles of melted snow with their father. Every once in a while, I can hear a screech of joy; the noise tumbles into the quietness of the house. The baby is currently stirring from her deep slumber as the Roomba passes by the bedroom door.
Peace is a good feeling to sit in right now. The silence is almost as loud as the giggles and squeals that normally overwhelm this house. I like knowing that it is okay to just feel. I don’t have to think about why emotions are being evoked and how to stop them; I can just be in them and that it is a rare, beautiful thing to do. The depths of their calling have always swallowed me whole, but now I feel that I can linger on the precipice and let them reel about without being all-consumed. Sometimes its okay to fall into them—to let them overcome each sense with a raw, unmatched power—but once in a while, it’s nice to view them from afar; to see what they look like from the edge of their glory and take in all the colors of their spectrum.
There is an erratic beauty in the icy colors falling into place just outside of my window—as the sun sinks lower beneath the horizon— just as there is beauty in the ever-changing insignia of my captivating emotions.
May I always remember this.
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