I’m settling, like a sigh of relief when you reach the landing between too many stairs, or like a bird into its nest after a windy journey.
Looking back, my life looks frenetic. No wonder I was always so stressed.
I still spin the wheels in my head uselessly some days. Or most days.
…
I don’t turn on the lights in my little bedroom, because there’s a bowl full of starlight (it’s a plastic bowl, and in it is a battery-operated string of star-shaped lights) and I don’t want to interrupt this moment while my dogs sleep, curled beside each other, (hogging the bed) basking in the warm yellow glow, serenaded by the crooning wind and the tidal ebb and flow of raindrops (splattering on the roof of the camper).
Instead, I take up the edges of my bed by curling myself around my dogs (who have won the center by virtue of being there first, and being too sweet to disturb) and sinking into the moment.