It’s March, and just like the weather, I can’t seem to settle. With a list in hand I start the day, there’s laundry to do, beds to make, but as I pass a window I get caught in the lace, such beautiful patterns made by the sun’s rays, and am back in some field visited long ago, and there’s children’s laughter, and a warm summer breeze…time goes by and the bed is not made.
It’s a heavy laundry basket, and I’m reminded of days when my children would ride on my hips, and their sweet scent suddenly fills the room mixing with vanilla cookies and lavender sprigs…time goes by and the laundry is not done.
I must tackle the dust but as I lift a certain figurine I stop in midair and I am back at the store with my friend, and I could almost smell the rain that had fallen that day…time goes by and the dust is still there.
I go to the wardrobe and see my husband’s shoes and my eyes just fill with tears, so many sacrifices, so many plans, all his efforts showing in the worn leather, I’m so overwhelmed with love and tenderness...time goes by and the wardrobe remains disarrayed.
I stare out the window, I walk around the house, I go to the store, I have some coffee, but everything I touch and everything I see brings me somewhere else. I don’t mind. I’m not worried, I know this will pass as soon as the Forsythia starts to bloom and there’s birdsong in the air.
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