breathing in, breathing out

Sometimes I remind myself, because life begins to hyperventilate. There is so very much that must be done to make these moves happen. Appointments, calls, house showing at a moment's notice, sorting, car sales, paperwork, contracts to sign, things to be faxed, more sorting.  And there are still dinners to cook and papers to check and little heads to shampoo and laundry to fold.  and. and. and…

When life is moving at a sprint you get winded faster. 

I had begun to feel that – winded – but I pressed on, perhaps harder and longer than was prudent. The tank must fill – and so must the lungs.  You can't talk and type and call and run without pausing for a breath.  Not for long.  Not and hope to have anything worth saying, nor to do any of the many things that must be done halfway well.  

Some deep breaths were overdue.  Fortunately we know where to find them.  I round up my men and we head down the back road.  These walks have the paradoxical effect of tiring the little ones out while invigorating me.  Much better than the other way around things.

We pass the jet-coated stray.   We spot a buck in the grain field.  We toss daisies at each other and moo at the cows.  And we laugh, long and loud. 

Deep breath. 

This is good. 

It isn't a luxury.   It is the essence of life itself and life is too short and too uncertain to take it in by frantic gulps and gasps.  I am old enough to know this now, but there are seasons I have to live it more conscienciously than others.  This is one of them. 

Steady on. 

 

 

 

 

 

Take the back roads instead of the highways. - Minnie Pearl