There is no space in time quite as lonely as that after a nightmare. The house has quieted back down, after being rudely awakened by screams and it is eerily peaceful.
Eerily, I say, because it seems so unnatural that the world could continue on--that people could sleep, no less--after having their world so violently and shockingly torn apart.
But, they don't see the scenes replayed on the screens of their eyelids everytime they drift closed. They don't hear the sickening thud that brought an ending to every good and perfect thing in their life.
There is no time when I pray quite as fervently--almost feverishly--as in these hours as I sit and watch my treasures sleeping, praying to a God I had all but convinced myself was done listening to me years ago, a God I now choose daily to put my hope in, to spare me from my (thankfully imagined) tragedy.
The morning comes, the sun comes up and hope dawns anew. A new day, and I hold those I love close and vow to treasure every. single. moment. that I am given.
Nothing says "hope anew" like tiny dahlias from the garden in a little silver cream pitcher.
(Today's post is something new I'm trying--I'm linking up with Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write, an exercise in "free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments." Still finding my blog-gy footing, so thanks for letting me "try it out" on you!)
