"I'm taking five minutes. I'll be right back," I called to the secretary, turning to head out the door. It had been so long since sunshine and warmer temperatures merged, that I just had to venture out today. Once outside, I plunged my bare hands into my pockets, took a deep breath of air, and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. My weight shifted under the melting slush masking all other sounds. On the side of the driveway, I stopped. Melting snow dripped, birds chattered and deep into the shadowy wood everything seemed still and quiet.
My life is a mixture of planned and unplanned chaos. Busy yet synchronized like a well choreographed dance. It is what gets the family through a day, a week, or a month. I have to keep forever watch on my well-being. It is the quiet that grounds me; making all that I do for my family possible. I pause. I listen to the birds. I watch the glistening evergreen branches drip, shedding a bit of winter weight. A minimum of five minutes a day is a requirement for living.
2 comments:
You made me feel like I was right there standing beside you. Every detail was so well captured, every moment painted in words. I had to laugh at the way you gauge your day, and then "tonight I write this squinting through streaks." That says it all.
Take care of you,
Cathy
I loved how you could tell so much about your day from your glasses! I need to follow your lead and remember the value of five quiet moments. Your descriptions were beautifully written.
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