Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Five
I’m not so sure I’ve enjoyed this week without an alarm. I miss the quiet darkness.
She begs for donuts. I don’t want to cook. Sounds like a win for both of us.
Cough medicine and leggings. I’m in this store way too much.
Two texts about why I’m not on Facebook anymore. I giggle. It’s interesting the kinds of feelings this stirs up.
I take a tea and my journal out to the front porch and sit in the sun. The air is so cool and the amount of sun is just enough to keep me warm. I love these days. I am missing the big porch on the green house.
81 days. I feel like I’ve lost a little bit of hope. But then, maybe this is the just right amount of time. Maybe this is giving me time to lay a better foundation for the kind of work I want to do once I’m there. Maybe this is giving me more time to learn how to trust in the divine timing of things…to trust in my own life’s path. Maybe this is giving me the time I need to learn how to be at rest. Maybe I need this time to conserve my energies before we’re swept away by the move.
I head down to the basement with a cup of tea, tape, and markers. Fever Dream playlist on. I repack the Christmas china. I make fast work of it and stack the boxed in the corner.
Leftover corn chowder and a deep breaths.
The deer. Both of them so close. Closer than usual. The littlest one and I stand outside and watch them. They stare us. We stare at them. I go around to the side of the house and clip sage, rosemary, oregano. It’s probably time to pick the watermelons. I’ll wait another week. There’s a temperature spike. Maybe that will bump up the sugars just a little bit more.
“A deep life is a good life.” - Deep Work