this is the week of winding down, the week that almost doesn't count, these days between christmas and the new year ignored as we think back or think forward. it's a very un-zen week. we pay little attention to the now. i am as guilty as everyone else.
and so i write.
the snow that fell on christmas day is still out there in splotches and stripes, white icing on the monkey grass and honeysuckle. i'd noticed the afternoon of christmas eve a blossom on that honeysuckle, but it is now covered, now invisible, now gone. the christmas tree lights are on and blue and there is a fire in the heater and a cat asleep on the couch. i had apple pie for breakfast and the taste is still on my tongue. there is a wreath hanging on the oak tree across the street and i can see its red bow through the empty wisteria vines in our front yard, bright in the morning sun. all is calm - it is a silent day. when i think about plans for later, i go blank and stare out the window, seeing nothing but the now. it isn't hard at all.
i am breathing in . . .
i am breathing out . . .