these things give me peace.
washing dishes, while watching a family of cardinals and a couple of bluejays search for food in the hedgerows, their chirps and trills reaching me on the breeze.
walking everyday, especially the spot almost directly across from the yellow dog who probably loves me despite his mean bark, because there, in those few steps, i seem to grow taller than the rest of the street and can almost reach the leaves above me.
sitting on my back porch, maybe with a beer or a glass of wine or nothing at all, and watching dusk fall. a bat flits in and out of sight and the cicadas' voice rises and falls, and gradually gives way. the feathers in flight that rustle over my head as the vultures fly off to roost. where those two just playing mid-air? contemplating the herb garden, noting which plants need deadheading, or maybe just a little more water.
leaving the mail on the front porch, because i got distracted by a cat who desperately needed a belly rub.
collapsing on a made bed in a state of semi-dress, and looking outside at the camphor tree, the light perfect for napping.
cooking or baking something, anything, on a whim, the measuring and mixing giving my mind a soothing respite from everything else.
a word from someone who knows me well, at the right time for it, telling me what i somehow could not see myself, giving me relief from an unknown fear or a palpable one.
i suppose it scares me to think i will lose all these things, whether in whole or in part. im afraid to leave this town and start over somewhere else. i wish i could just find a spot and be content and stay there. i hate to leave the ones i know here and fall out of touch with them, as is bound to happen. i drag my feet, i make excuses, i wake up in the night to think about it... and theres nothing for it. i have to go.
that big, ugly thing thats been waiting around the corner gets ready to pounce and i have no defense.
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