Why do I waste the “in-between places? Like those first moments when I know I’ve awakened but haven’t accepted it yet.
I see the cat’s paw prints in the dew on the car and only think of the workday ahead.
I hear the first call of the dove on the neighbor’s roof and yet dwell on the leaky faucet in the kitchen.
Out of the corner of my eye I spot the old black tom crossing a cul-de-sac many houses from home. I wonder is the white flea collar still fighting the fleas
I’m grateful for the pensive pauses at work … gazing out the window for brief moments … no constructed thought. Then I hurry to the next task.
Something makes me look upward and I note the fluffy white cumulus caressing the deep blue heavens. I can’t help but think “ Hello Father … I see you there. ”
The days labor past; darkness has descended. Bitter tired, I stare as the headlights part the way towards rest. Several deer bolt across the beam. They’re wide-eyed and frantic as one stumbles at the roadside ditch. Injury or death passes whisper close by his haunches then he bounds away into the night.
The moment arrives when I shoulder my way through the back door off the garage … hands full … weary. My still sick and pale teenage son asks if I need help and I mumble, “no … I’ve got it.” “Thanks” comes a little too late as I pass through the bright light of the kitchen.
Lying in bed, reading before sleep, the book startles me when it falls. I leave it knowing I’ll have to find my place tomorrow. As I reach into the lamp’s yellow glow for the dangling chain of the switch I welcome the click that brings a nether world of darkness … sleep … renewal.
Dreams are the best in-between places. They’re always waiting there just beneath the surface.
At least dreams are one thing that refuse to be wasted.