Rest Is In My Breath

One of my favourite things is the scent of fresh laundered sheets with a hint of bleach and outdoor sunshine lingering on the threads. One of my least favourite things to do is crawl out of a cozy bed to a dark, cold morning. Especially since lately I have been having trouble sleeping.

I love to cradle a hot cup of tea between both hands, savoring a rich blend of Chai spices flaring my nostrils. But I hate hot liquid burning my tongue. Often I choose to guzzle the tepid drink later because it sat forgotten beside my computer screen.

This morning I sat in quiet but not stillness. My body didn’t move, I didn’t fidget, and my hands remained relaxed in my lap. But my mind refused to settle. Thoughts galloped behind my eyes. Before the apocalypse many small bookstores struggled. Since social distancing became mainstream, they have gone silent. I hope they will last until after. After. After we are allowed to be close to one another again. After the locks are opened and we can breathe a little easier. After we can go to the dentist, the hair dresser, the post office, linger with a fresh off the press new book in hand.

These thoughts defy the will to rest, to simply be. They demand attention, they want to be seen and heard. So for thirty minutes I do battle. When it’s over I realize I had thirty minutes of tending to passing thoughts. I’m not sure if that would qualify as meditation but it meant thirty minutes without really thinking about Covid-19 and the corona virus. I didn’t solve the issue of what will happen to my beloved independent bookstores, but the distractions and outside “noise” did provide thirty minutes of welcome rest.

Life Rythms

She studied his chiseled cheeks
while he slept,
a low rumble arose with each breath,
the sheets rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

He watched her athletic form from a window
as she ran toward their home,
a steady smack from her shoes arose with each step,
heavy breath panting in and out in a steady rhythm.

They sat together holding each other
watching the river flow before them,
churning waters arose with spring downpours,
embankments dislodging in a collapsing rhythm.

Dancing Dragon

dancing dragon
(image credit: ddfengshui.com)

She danced to the music
twirling step by step
her little skirt spinning out from her body
like a toy top set in motion

Her eyes closed
lashes dark against porcelain cheeks
that were red and glowing as if lit from within

Happy go lucky
she practiced jaunty quick moves
hops
skips
bows
sashaying
this little show girl was
putting on quite a display
her joy was unmistakable

I felt grateful
for the gift of her dance
the vision of her
carefree performance
awoke a sleeping dance dragon
within my heart

I found my foot tapping
myself smiling
and soon
I too
was dancing with abandon