STILLNESS

My brain cannot handle too much input, especially from humans. It always picks apart every word, gesture, and nuance looking for clues of deception. People do talk in circles, some preferring to come across as strong by denying their pain. That’s look on as brave.

Others prefer to seem more important by touting the latest gadgets or travel excursions, whatever it takes to improve status therefore ego. I am guilty of all these at some point, but my preference around others is that they just be honest.

That’s rare. As social customs require a certain performance, one I’ve never quite grasped preferring to keep to myself because of it. It is more peaceful than a swimming head of negativity trying to figure out just what others are really saying, or meaning.

And so? That has been my life. During the pandemic others suffered from the isolation. Other than anxiety over catching the virus, my life did not change much feeling for once that I fit in. Now that others are out and about like they like to do, the feelings of abnormality crept in again.

That needs confronting daily. You are OK, and it is completely OK to love nature and want to be in it more than being around people, or rushing about from place to place because I can’t be still. Stillness brings my parts together as a whole. The beauty fulfilling. The gifts endless.

SNAIL’S PACE

There are changes. The drop in mood, the drop of reddish leaves along with hickory nuts in the path walking by, the earlier darkness, a cooler feeling to the day despite it reaching high temps, and moister air in the mornings causing the train whistle to sound closer.

Hermie, the young buck in the back woods and meadow I’ve come to know, is growing antlers as they curl forward with more prominence day by day. Always changes. It is hard to keep up with change, my being usually feeling behind trying to catch up. Being able to be in my body will do as nature takes me for wild rides.

The meadow, like a color-changing magical flag, has flown several colors, from yellow buttercups to white daisies, now white again with Queen Ann’s Lace dotted with lovely purply flowered plants… what a sight. And soon it will all turn over to deep yellow as mustard blooms.

Butterflies flit in groups among the butterfly bushes as my float swirls round and round in the pool late in the day. Their antics are more inviting than a drive-in movie. Bees love the sweet blossoms too. Staring at the puff clouds a turtle appears like a mirage in the white fluffs slowly morphing into a dog or goat drifting by overhead.

The floating relaxes as if still in the womb, cooling me off for the evening, hair still wet by morning. It is a quiet life, but suits me. Longing sometimes to have the ability to travel more easily, the quest is to come to terms with my real life and stop chasing what wasn’t meant to be, not for me.

There is still so much beauty. Just still myself to let it in, and let the newly found respect for my real needs satisfy my soul.