The city is hushed, with a whisper of traffic from the bridge over Lake Union. The water is still and the reflections clear.
There's nothing for me to write about: I'm not that interested in documenting my day right now, or in contemplating some devotion, and I can't pin down the rest enough to put words to it. I'm not blank, really—just jumbled.
So I gave up on sleep for a while. Turned off the television and the music. For now I sit, writing the little I can because it's all I can think to do. Once it's morning, there are things I can do—sit at a coffee shop with a bagel, head into the office and get to work, whatever I like. But now, the space is just empty. Not right, but honest.