Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like it’s just you in this world? I don’t mean a down-on-your-luck day where you’re sure the world will never stop its relentless kicking at the seat of your pants.
I mean the kind where you’re physically isolated. No one around. Stillness.
I had one recently. Hubby had to work on this particular Sunday, leaving at 5 a.m., so I’d slept in a bit, lulled by the sound of rain the night before. When I awoke an hour later, a curtain of fog began its descent upon our house, whispering from the San Pedro River valley.
The fog moved quickly, engulfing our ranch within minutes. I stood in the middle of our quarter-mile-long dirt driveway (camera in hand), suddenly enveloped by this milky thickness, a rare occasion to behold in the desert.
I swear time stopped right then. Everything changed around me. I could feel the moisture on my skin. I was now blind to the behemoth train trestle beyond our wash. And sounds, noises – chirping birds, cars passing by – they were all suddenly absent. Everything was still.
I felt oddly insulated. Singular. Protected. Alone. The moisture clung in the air, forming a kind of shield, a thermal blanket that seemed to wrap its way around our property. All the background noise of the world was muffled. Gone, really. Vanished.
If you haven’t experienced this kind of wonder, I hope you do. It was nothing short of spectacular. Inspiring. Humbling, too. (Scroll below for more photos).
For Writers: As writers, are we too insulated in our writing lives? Is it dangerous to be too happy in our own heads? Or is it vitally important to have that “alone time” in the mind – on our own little island of ideas? What happens when the background noise in your life is turned off? How might you work to achieve that kind of solitude occasionally? Should you?