2. Raindrops on windows. The sounds of life beginning again.
3. I make granola before I realize that we are out of both milk and yogurt and must think of what to make instead. I opt to make a pot of oats, sweetened with the last drops of maple syrup and small heaps of cinnamon. I know that no one will eat it but me and the tallest son. The other two choose toast and butter and a handful of blueberries.
4. Back in bed under the covers with a cup of coffee. Sabbath by Wayne Muller. "Sabbath dissolves the artificial urgency of our days, because it liberates us from the need to be finished."
5. I am conscious of my use of this word, "Sabbath." Worried that I am co-opting and simplifying a sacred word that is more than word. And yet I can't help but want to cover myself in it and all that it means.
6. She brings sunflowers. Her thoughtfulness challenges me. I am glad to be with her, here, in this moment. I needed the connection.
7. It feels as though the layers of wholeness I'd built up while away are beginning to thin. And this is bound to happen when you return before you're ready. When are we ever ready? I am craving more space and time to process and integrate and realizing that there is none. Maybe integration will occur during these periods of rest throughout my day.
8. It is also hard to shift something while you're in it.
9. I think back to when Naomi Shihab Nye said to me, "And you're a poet right?" And how I said, "Well, I'm a writer." Next time someone asks me if I am a poet, I will say "yes" and really mean it.
10. It's just that I didn't realize how badly I'd been missing this.