Weekend morning, quiet. Peerless blue sky as the rising sun stretches into my space.
The light illuminates the desert colors of this room, lingering longest on the desk at which I write.
The desk, a tiger oak C-curve roll top, is far older than me. I am a part of its life, which will continue when my journey is ended. On days like this, the sun’s spotlight beckons. The wood glows with a patina gained only through quality craftsmanship and decades of use. The gravity is inescapable.
During the Golden Hour, the busyness of life is clear and the profundities of the seasons of human life felt acutely. Reflection too, is inescapable.
My laptop rarely visits this desk. This is a handmade corner, where pens, pencils, and paper still hold sway.
Desks are uniquely human. They hold, motivate, and provide. Desks are made of wood, metal, plastic, and found objects. Rarely appreciated but faithful nonetheless, especially during the Golden Hour.
Shouldn't...but Do 