A Time of Peace

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Maybe the sluggishness of shorter days makes me reach for the second cup of the deep, dark brew, usually consumed later in the day. Savoring the freshly ground coffee the sun dips over the trees slowly warming the cool 47 degree morning. 

It is a good time to naturally soak in full spectrum light from the sun’s rays instead of electrically. Sit, sip, and soak it in. Notice my body, relax my shoulders, not do, do, do. Do nothing, just sip the luscious black liquid and feel. No running. Accept all that is there.

The tiny fountain sprinkles a waterfall gently adding calm as the echo of a train whispers in the distance. The cat perks her ears running to the screen wanting to snare the chipmunk skittering by on the patio.

What is inside? Go there, do not fear it, be. After a life of buzzing erratically, the feeling of wrongness so deep it made me sizzle with angst, self-loathing, and a tremor of terror without end, this period of grace is welcomed. Without bitterness for what was, the intent is to fully let in the peaceful beauty of now.

The field brings joy each day as my need for movement drives me out to walk. My need to calm a too busy mind takes me in for meditation lying flat on the bed. Turning on the white noise device with a timer, crickets chirp adding to the chorus of crickets still chirping outside. The kitty kneads a place on my tummy finally curling up for the usual one half hour, her body offering warmth and comfort. 

These are the things for body and mind. All the rest is frosting on the cake. That these luxuries exist now are gifts received with gratitude, thankfulness, and relief. After a wearing life the repose is relished. The demons of bitterness, hate, and judgement have been cast out from time not intent. Love growing for what lay within took its place. Peace reigns.  

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MEADOW JOY

photos by Patricia

Though sitting on the porch is still an option as the cold hasn’t made it too unusable most mornings, at 5:30 AM it is still dark without sound. The quiet is unsettling. Oh, don’t go birds, but they left weeks ago.

Finally a dove coos. She stays, along with a few other hardy varieties. But it is a lonely feeling when my friends leave making me want to fly south right along with them.

The morning crimson breaks over the hill as the low lying fog clears with the sun. Neighbors like to mow their back property right down to the creek, but we like the wildness of the meadow in all it changing hues.

As the warm rays permeate my shoulders, finally feeling it after the whoosh of travel and reclaiming my bearings, the beauty of the yellow meadow descends into me. Yellows of mustard and another plant also yellow, dotted with what’s left of the Queen Anne’s lace sprinkling the yellow field with white.

The mural changes over summer, from buttercups to daisies, to grasses over my head swaying in the breeze, the meadow offers splendor in its flowing growth bringing joy.

The comfort and routine of home has returned, and with it peace.  The world is at my feet.

 

JOY

“Thank you for your courage in making the trip,” Cory said.

I nodded somewhat, not usually taking in positivity easily.

Making the decision and sticking to it did take courage, especially after the week prior when speaking up for myself at the eye doctor’s, which drained me completely.

Making the 5 + hour drive also took creativity. Doubling up the medication accompanied with falling into a light slumber, which also meant keeping my eyes closed, did the trick. If my eyes opened to see the traffic my body immediately tensed.

Falling back into my routine at home is taking some time. Feeling out of place, the routines don’t seem to fit. But each day the deep core of my center is rediscovering the joy of the meadow, along with the sun’s movement, moon’s phases, and starry nights.

The joy of the moment, lost in the shuffle. Lost in the quiet of home which once brought solace. But memories of happy chirping from a two year old on my lap singing her songs, and chattering on with her delightful, entertaining ways, are making the sudden isolation harder to accept.

But all is well. There’s no place like home.

 

RECOVERY DAY

Bent over my work with movies playing in the background, my body found calm, but it took all day. During meditation it almost became a nap. The walk was put off for another day, though the ever present bully was saying, GO WALK, GO WALK, GO WALK throughout the entire day.

A softer, wiser voice was saying, stay. Stay, let your body rest.

One hundred and fifty photos of garden flowers and meadow surprises were glued onto stationary, some for my uses, others made into packets, wrapped with clear cellophane, and ribboned for gifts.

The work was satisfying, both for my bully and my wise self. It took a day to recover from the day prior where others came so close to my body I could smell their breath. When the great need to advocate for myself, a task so hard it has taken a life-time to succeed at, was faced and conquered.

When something so big, so fearful, so needed growing more dire as the months passed, was taken on and decided. These things take my body to the stratosphere without my permission.

It just happens and is out of my control. More tests next Wednesday, more close-ups of my eyes, making the decision not to go to Cory’s the next day all the more a much healthier route, but also deeply saddens me.

I cannot do what I want. I cannot do what others do. The truth is, that I can, but the cost to my body and psyche is too much right now. Conquering this needed operation is a great feat, one that has been pondered the last few years with enormous trepidation, terror really.

And then there is fall. The fall into sadness, despair, and depression. It is already happening. Each day pick up the beast of despair. Brush her off, make her ready for the day. Make the best of it. Do your best. See the beauty.

The job gets harder, as the days grow shorter.

HAPPY DAY

Spending a good part of the day puttering in the kitchen readying for today’s brunch with Shane and the kids felt so satisfying. Zucchini from the garden made for wonderful muffins with cinnamon and raisins. My famous quiche awaits digging into, along with ‘Pig’s in a Blanket’ easily made with dough from the bread machine.

Quiche is a term loosely used as it’s eggs, milk, cheese, rice and whatever else is thrown in with it but usually kept simple so that the kids will eat it. The kitchen was a’whirling! My happy putter place. 

Bushels of apples were given away, with the top third of the tree still full because Samuel’s ladder doesn’t go up that far.. I whittled away at the last bushel using only half for buckets of applesauce, most of it to go to Shane’s house. Apples unused sit sadly in the hallway waiting for compost or nibbling rabbits. 

Fond memories floated up of son’s coming home from school gobbling up huge bowls of home-made applesauce. The added bonus was knowing no sugar had been added, just plenty of fresh cinnamon.

Samuel was sent out later after the rains to grill garden veggies for dinner. His skills are superb!