The Beautiful Slow

I don’t know if it’s the cordeceps in my coffee but I’m feeling optimistic this morning. Sitting on the porch, listening to the birds, the water from my neighbor’s bird bath. A single bicycle moves by. It’s like we escaped to a small mountain town overnight. Venice is quiet. Still. It’s gorgeous really. I find myself drawn to observation rather than spinning in fear and internal drama. I’m watching the hummingbird, listening to the conversation across the street. Sometimes I think nature needs to shock us with fear to crack us open. Here we are- all together in the silence. In the slow. At no point has the reality of the losses of human life left me. It informs everything. It even amplifies the beauty of this change on our beach town. The meaning behind the quiet. Today is the first day where I’m not consumed by a new tumultuous emotion. By a new drama. I see the fear. It’s still there. But now it feels like there is room for more. A dog barking. A cicada? Can that be right? Does the sun have a sound? It has a smell. Today feels like a vacation. But no vacation I have ever been on. Because my vacations are filled with to-do’s and to-see’s. Today I have nowhere to go, nothing to see and yet my backyard just unveiled itself as a living paradise. The bees, the fat squirrels that I used to get mad at for eating my Halloween pumpkins. I feel at peace at home. Two Italians just walked by. And just like that I googled “dark patch of skin” because I have some hyperigementation on my foot. Ok coffee anxiety, slow down. Let me have a pink cloud morning.