Early

The dawn has not arrived. Dark and chill at 3am. The snow catches all available light and creates an illusion of moonglow, though it is only the reflection of sodium vapor street lamps as they hiss and buzz through each hour of the dark. I am awake at this time more often than not, releasing the half- remembered dreams and regrets of the minutes and hours that have slid past me, unnoticed.

I am full of resolve at 3am. The list is created and starred and underscored with firm intention. But then, as the light grows in the east, the day begins and all those things that clutter each day seep into my intention. The meditation is shorter, the dry toast is buttered, the 3rd cup of coffee added and all without more than a passing thought, "Shame on you."

I have noticed something about that resolve I mentioned. It was strong and reliable not so long ago. Something changed. As simple as just not caring. I am unsure why this has happened. Procrastination? They call it sloth in five syllables. Not sure. What I notice is an erosion of purpose. And is this because I no longer need purpose or is it more complicated. Bombarded by information, the act of giving meaning to all of it can sometimes be downright exhausting. A walk in the wood with a big black dog seems like the only alternative.