Part of my middle age seems to be about learning to stop. My life is nowhere near as chaotic as the lives of many of my contemporaries. And it seems that I am on a path of stripping away as much chaos as possible, trimming down to the simplest I can make it. I no longer live with traffic. I no longer live with noise. I don't live with pollution, pressure or crime. I would say I am spoiled, but my husband and I have made this happen at no small cost, so I think it is more about deciding what you want and what is really important.
And even so, I need to be reminded to stop. Stop in my head. Turn down the inner volume. All of that ado about nothing.
Today the sky is blue after two days of snowfall. The icicles are long and sparkling. Last night we went to the local gas station to fill up the car. The sky was dark and there was a pool of light illuminating only the area where the gas pumps stood. A squeal arose from the back seat as my children pointed to two red foxes frolicking under the lights. They looked as if they were playing a game of chase, and their coats were full and their tails were white tipped. As we pulled into the light they banked off to the shadows, and sat down to watch us as we pumped the gas. They just watched us. As if waiting. When we pulled away their game commenced, running around in crazy circles and nipping at each other's tails.
That, my friends, is what happens when I decide to just be.