Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
I woke up yesterday morning at about 10 to six and groaned as, moving to look at the clock, my knee screamed at me and my hip joined in with a low percussion – a persistent whine somewhat akin to a washing machine drum when the load is too heavy for the spin (or was that me?). My whole body was complaining all at once, shouting and waving at me from inside every white hot joint. It flashed through my mind that just perhaps my body was simply telling me that it was too early and wanted to go back to sleep.
Feeling rather glum and afraid to move again, I lay there like a corpse – flat on my back, hands folded on my torso, listening to the stillness of what I’d initially perceived to be nothing but silence. The first thing that struck me was the sun, strong and warm on my face, flooding in through the slats of my shutters.
For me, the only thing nicer than a cold bedroom is sliding in-between crisp, arctic, cotton sheets when you’ve just changed them. And as for the room itself, I never have any heating on in the bedroom and literally have my window wide open. Even when the ice and snow clings magically to everything, turning it white, I love the contrast. The sensation of deep, cosy warmth experienced under the quilt while Jack Frost nips at your nose and makes your breath come out in moist, smoky plumes.
This morning though, I was struck by the strength of the sun as it whispered to me. It seemed thin and liquid, the dust motes dancing in a pale lemon light of washed out rays. The light itself, golden on dust, was so glorious that it pulled at my attention as it danced and shifted across the room, invading every crack and space and putting everything into a dazzling, luminous candela.
My attention now focused, I heard the sound of a robin singing, cheerful and resplendent, completely unmistakable as it took the lead in an orchestra of more muted bird song; the blackbird sweet and high and the wren bright and reliable – an unadulterated expression of joy. Closing my eyes, I focused on the different sounds of the morning and coming to the forefront was the soft, warm, thrum of my dog Arthur’s breathing as he lay only yards away from me on his own cosy bed.
All heaviness banished, my heart melted as, full of love, I listened to the sounds of his gentle slumber, so grateful was I that he’s still by my side, still, in spite of everything, content and warm. His furriness calling to me, all pain put on the back burner, I slipped out from between the covers, daring my knee which, sensing my determination, stifled a complaint as I crossed the bedroom on tiptoes.
Lowering myself gingerly, I shared his cushion, pulling him into my arms, spooning him as I gently caressed his nose and fondled his ears, talking quietly to him. Fully aware of my presence, he leant into me as we shared the warmth, pushing his nose into my neck, his whiskers tickling my cheek, purring softly. Yes, like cats, Shiba Inu purr and thrum their pleasure, just as they scream like a banshee when not impressed.
Closing my eyes we spent the next hour completely content together on his cushion until, sadly, my hip made itself felt again. Unable to tolerate its complaints any longer, I was forced to move – but it didn’t matter. My mood, somewhat low and bleak on waking, was now warm and bright like the sun and full of positivity.
Cheerfully, I conducted my ablutions, dressed, and took my baby boy downstairs to wake his sister Ila. Having let him out into the garden, I went back to the dining room to wake her gently, cradling her little face, stroking her ears, and talking to her. Now that she’s mostly blind and deaf, all things must be taken slowly so as not to frighten her.
Instantly she knew it was me and pushed her nose and head into my hands, enjoying the fuss. Having let her out and put down her breakfast, I went into the sitting room to put my socks on, but Ila, practising her morning zoomies, rushed in, grabbed the socks out of my hand, and rushed off again, making me laugh out loud. I knew I’d have to retrieve them from the garden, but it was OK, she was playing with me and at 16 her joy is as infectious as when she was a mere pup.
Eventually once my medication had kicked in, Arthur and I left Ila to her breakfast and exited the garden for his morning walk, the sky bright and blue above us. The roofers opposite called a cheery “Good morning” and waved to us from their lofty vantage point like benign Quasimodo as we left the lane. Before we’d made it to the end of the road, two neighbours had greeted us as they made their way to work, putting a spring in our step.
So why have I written this today? It’s because yesterday morning when I first opened my eyes, wracked with pain, it would’ve been so easy to surrender myself to those pesky, pain gremlins as they lounged around in my joints, drinking cups of warm control, and making themselves at home. Thankfully, during those few moments when I allowed myself to take stock, I saw the sunshine creeping in with its dust motes dancing, heard the robin singing his bright, bold song, and, of course, I heard Arthur, his gentle snoring the epitome of everything I love about him, making me focus on the positive.
Everything that followed showed me how grateful I am to be alive, to still have my furry companions beside me, and how beautiful this world really is. Yes, I have pain – sometimes crushing pain – but all things have their opposites and the beauty that can be found outside of that pain makes it manageable and allows me to put it into perspective and control it, rather than let it control me.
Getting out into the street with my dog by my side, I’m struck by a moment of sonder as I watch the cars queueing at the lights, mothers pushing pushchairs, and teenage boys in uniform, their rucksacks on their backs. Arthur and I are just extras in the background of their lives.
Yesterday was a good day and, today, I’ll have another. I hope with all my heart that you’ll take stock and so will you.
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.