Inhale. Exhale. And again.

 May 2, 2025, 7:25 am
The midnight rain wakes me from a strange nightmare: wolves morphing into people I'd rather not see again, especially in my sleep. I am shaking, breathless, afraid. I sit up in bed and listen. Just the patter of rain on the woodshed and the tick-tock of the cuckoo clock in the living room. I wrap my heavy woolen shawl around me and quietly tip-toe through the darkened house to the entrance of the mudroom. Frank sleeps in his hospital bed and I can hear from his breathing that it is a deep sleep. Are you awake? I whisper softly, knowing I won't rouse him. I just need to hear my voice. He sleeps on.

It is cold in the house. A fire is needed. I walk over to the woodstove without turning on a light. Frank jokes at my ability to see in the dark. Calls me a vampire in disguise. I reach for the kindling and newspaper and quickly set it alight in the firebox. The flames creak to life, adding light to the darkness. I warm up some milk and wildflower honey in a saucepan, pour it into my mug and walk over to my chair to sit in the orange glow of the fire. Rhubarb sighs from her nest on the couch. It's the noise all contented dogs make. I wait and and wait, and then put pencil to paper. Heartbeat slows. Inhale. Exhale. And again.

I place the mug in the sink and wander back to bed. My bedroom window is wide open. I like a cold bedroom. It makes me cocoon deeper into the duvet; a place of safety, peace, softness, quiet. The memory of the nightmare dispels. Sleep, sleep. It comes quick this time.  And all too soon I wake at my usual time: 6:40 am. An alarm is never needed.


May 4, 2025, 7:15 am
I am earth. I am sky.
Mud held together
with the body memories of generations.
The dawn light captivates
Snapshots
of shadow and pale luminescence.
Table, tree,
my bare foot on the floor.

I am light. I am dark.
I am everything in between.

Illumination
Brightness
Luminosity
Radiance.

I love
and love
and love
and the earth tilts on its axis.
Love is the gravitational force*
through this curved space of time
and I am yours forever.

*The gravitational force is directly proportional to the product of two masses of the two objects and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. 
Newton's Law


May 10, 2025, 7:40 am
Pencil to paper doesn't come easy this morning. No rhyme, no reason. A memory of Guy Allen, my writing professor, shaking his head while saying with great gusto, Cliches, Shona! Cliches! The cuckoo clock does its dance: tick-tock, tick-tock. Rhyme, reason, rhythm.

I have an anxious mind this morning. Too much noise, too much clutter and clatter, and all I want is calm. But the mental To Do List is too long for that right now.

Fill Frank's prescriptions
Call palliative care
Plant tomatoes
Change bed sheets
Water the gardens
Bring in the laundry
Find a suitcase for traveling
Bake a loaf of bread
Buy groceries
Take Rhubarb to the vet.

My mind feels rattled. Calm, peace, quiet. Repeat the mantra again. Slow down, go softly. Lie on the beach. Fall asleep easily. Float in the river. Wander through the farmer's market. Have a second cup of coffee. Read 10 pages a day. Dress the loom and gently throw the shuttles. Eat toast and honey for supper. Watch the fireflies at midnight. Sit in the library looking at books I will never read. Eat popcorn in bed. Swim 25 lengths. Rediscover tai chi. Do nothing for a day. Drive to the Valley for no reason at all. 

Inhale. Exhale. And again.




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