This week has gone so quickly and I've been out of rhythm, or perhaps just not back in rhythm, transitioning from the three lovely weeks my mom was visiting, shuttling through the many tasks and appointments I put off until this week, after she had gone, and trying to find my way back to my own groove. This process seems to take longer as time goes by, but perhaps that is not completely true. Perhaps it is that I am more likely to enjoy the ambiguity of liminality, more willing to admit that life is transitional in so many ways, and allow myself time to ruminate, as opposed to my youthful tendency to throw myself headlong into new project after new project, not noticing that the tide had shifted until it knocked me flat.
Somehow those mental perigrinations didn't involve writing however and the week slipped by. I accept that it is what it is, and sometimes one's thoughts, and time, need to meander along at their own pace, laughing in the face of definition. It is not like this civilized world we live in is short on product, or process either for that matter. Sometimes we are so wrapped up in our perception that time flies by, that we forget the stillness of time.
As I write this a small dog is curled at my feet and a purring cat has just rested his head on my right wrist. My ability to type has been reduced to my ability to hunt and peck with my left hand. Perhaps a bit more stillness is required.