Where The Calm Comes
Late afternoon, the sun heavy in the western sky, the laundry piled on the bed, the crumbs under the table, the boy's forgotten breakfast dishes in the sink, the neckties and dress shirts scatter-strewn, the running shoes on top of snowboots on top of basketball shoes, the wad of clothes on the bathroom floor, someone's glove, someone's sock here, here, and there.
You grab the warm gear, start to bundle. Nellie knows, tiny whines and wet nose-bumps: Outside?
Yes, Nellie-Belle, outside. Let's leave all this behind.
There's not much time, but there's plenty of time. That heavy sun will hold. The light will catch the face of snowflakes, and you'll see the sparkle. The sun will lengthen shadows, and you'll see them gray, then blue.
Snap into skis, cross the fence, glide the pasture. Every breath a frosty ornament hanging in mid air. Solitude.
Here's where the calm comes. Here's where the peace settles. Here's where I listen, to a steady swish, to a gentle cadence, to so much more than that.
Wishing you a gentle week's beginning, friends.
