Slow Mile

 

 

I doubt that I’ll be writing every day on this blog, but there is of course the newness of the thing, and the fact that I just happen to have a moment or two. Daylight is lingering long past dinnertime these days, and one would almost think that shy sweet spring is finally settling in, if it weren’t for the drama-queen blustering wind that keeps blowing down the broom on the front steps and knocking down the garden chairs.

The common cold has a more ominous feel after Covid, but Dave and I are both sneezing and hacking our way back to normality. Despite my plans to bustle and achieve, it seems that slacking off is the order of the day. A home really is a yin and yang thing; there’s the sticky counter and the wiping off, the empty laundry basket that in a flash is filled, the list of smugly crossed-off ‘to dos’ and the dismay of doing it all over again.

It feels strangely good to log a slow mile. The bed is tousled, dishes grow in the sink, but I know that my heartbeat and my hands will summon order soon enough. In the meantime, little OCD me is marveling at finding serenity, even amongst the dust bunnies.