Rusty's Armory

Whispers of Dawn: A Chronicle of Tranquil Mornings

Posted on October 7, 2023

This morning enveloped me in a cocoon of gentle slumber, where the soft dozing and occasional nudges from my anxious canine companions created a tranquil sanctuary. The autumn day unfolded with an eerie stillness, a departure from the usual symphony of insects, frogs, and birds. In this quietude, the rustling leaves orchestrated a delicate dance as the zephyrs playfully chased one another through the trees.

Last night’s rest granted me a reasonable reprieve. Sleep has always been my refuge from pain—a sanctuary where I can momentarily escape its clutches. Today is Shabbat, a day to set aside worries about incomplete chores and the looming clutter, to immerse myself in a sanctuary of peace.

However, beyond this personal retreat, the world churns with unrest. News arrived of an attack on Israel, claiming the lives of a hundred souls. Bibi, in response, declares war. History has shown the grim outcome when such declarations are made. The air is heavy with surprise, for support for the Palestinians is at a low ebb. It seems a desperate move, perhaps an attempt to rally local support, but the consequences remain unknown.

As I woke from my reverie, I rediscovered the forgotten massagers by my bedside and in my studio. These humble devices proved to be a blessing, their gentle touch easing the persistent aches, granting moments of respite. Five minutes of massage equaled three hours of peaceful slumber, a precious exchange.

In the midst of this tranquil morning, the lives of those around me unfold. Amber, my dear niece, embarks on a musical journey at a festival. Bruce, battling his own trials, shows a glimmer of improvement after an extended period of struggle. George, my great-nephew, is hard at work, a reminder of the rhythms of productivity. Their bustling lives, intertwined with my quietude, create a comforting tableau. It’s a reminder that life continues its ever-changing dance, and today, I find warmth in this realization.

As I pen down these thoughts, I acknowledge that this narrative may be trite, perhaps even self-indulgent. Yet, the commitment to share a piece of my life every day drives me to embrace imperfection. If my words do not ascend to the heights of great prose akin to Henry James, so be it. In the end, it’s about expression, connection, and the simple act of greeting a new day.

Good morning!